


Trance

by ramenluvwithu



Category: British Actor RPF, Irish Actor RPF, Scottish Actor RPF, X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Ultimateverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Actors, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Getting Uncomfortable, David 8 (kind of), Erik You Slut, Erik has Issues, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, F/M, False Memories, Human Experimentation, Kidnapping, M/M, Magneto Being Creepy, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Mind Sex, Mutant Powers, Mutants, Other, Partial Mind Control, Poor Charles, Post-Cuba, Shaw Being Evil, Shaw Being a Manipulative Bastard, Shaw is Creepy, Telepathic Bond, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 42,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3161417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramenluvwithu/pseuds/ramenluvwithu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James has a normal life, or at least, the most normal life an actor can get. Things start to get complicated when reality starts to blur and mix with images of another life that it's not his own...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My old friend

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Trance.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2280807) by [ramenluvwithu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramenluvwithu/pseuds/ramenluvwithu). 



> Hello! A few days ago I uploaded my first fanfiction in English, and I can say that I feel quite happy with all the comments and the kudos. I've been looking for an English-native-speaker to help me with the translation of the rest of my works, but I've decided to do it all by myself, so, here it is, the first chapter of my first Cherik fic, _Trance_. Hope you like it, and, as I've said before, English is not my first language, not even my second one, so my apologies in advance for all the mistakes.
> 
> PS: It would be great if you can let me know the mistakes so I can correct them and make this better. Thank you!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! ♥

_Charles Xavier was the ruins of the man he used to be. That was the first thing Logan thought the moment he could finally get into the library of the professor's mansion, that place where, not matter how many years passed, it was his favourite place, that little corner of the world where he could hide and forget the weight of the world upon his shoulders. There he was, sprawled on the sofa, with a glass full of a liquid that reminded suspiciously to whiskey in one of his hands. His skin was paler than it used to be, and two bruised bags were under those intense blue eyes of the man that, once, and even Logan admitted it, was the most admirable being on the planet._

_"What do you want? This is private property, my friend"._

_Of course he knew. He wouldn't had a fight with that younger version of Hank McCoy if he hadn't known. If he was there was because he really needed it; he had to convince Charles that Logan was sent from the future by himself, just to avoid the future they would have if they didn't do anything, if they didn't stop Raven from commiting the crime that would condemn all mutants forever. But Xavier seemed not to be there. At least, not that Xavier he knew. That devastated, hollow, haggard man, who was standing on his two feet, by Logan's surprise, taking in count everything that happened in Cuba - Logan wasn't there, but he knew the whole story well enough -, he wasn't the professor Logan had met, but the result of his own loneliness, of having lost his sister, Raven, and also, something that Logan had always found incomprehensible: he was also the product of having lost the most important person in his life, someone in whom Charles hadn't lost that blind faith that characterized him so much, someone who had betrayed him there, in Cuba, making a bullet collide into Charles's spine, abandoning him with his legs useless for the rest of his life, someone who even Charles recognized him now as the monster he had always been: Erik Lehnsherr._

_Logan told him why he was there, but Charles couldn't believe him, and he hadn't his powers to know if Wolverine was telling the truth: that was the price he had to pay so he could walk, since Hank had created a serum starting from the one he had to control his own mutation, with the drawback that, under its effects, Charles was turned into a human, a simple human as the others, deprived of his mental powers, because the serum modifided his DNA. Finally, after Logan demonstrated Charles that everything he was saying was true, that he knew things about Charles Xavier that he hadn't confess to anyone at that time, something awoke on his person: he promised Logan that he would help him, but just because he was helping Raven doing it so._

_" ...but I warn you, my friend: you have no idea of how Erik Lehnsherr is. He is a monster. He is a murderer. What makes you think that you will convince Raven to come back home? And, even if you succeed, what makes you think you will convince him to change?".  
"Because you and Erik sent me here, together". Logan looked at him fixedly, and he finally saw the first significant change on Charles's face. It was... hope? Pain? He couldn't be sure, but something had happened inside the professor. He went upstairs, without another word, and closed his bedroom's door with a thud._

_Erik... it had happened so much time that sometimes he thought that everything was a product of his own imagination, or at least that was the sensation he had. After some failed attempts, Magneto emerged from somewhere inside Erik, like taking off a mask, that cold, heartless being who had no qualms about killing Sebastian Shaw, without taking his eyes off him as he crossed his skull with a coin. He had lost hope in Erik at that time, as he felt Shaw's pain under his own skin, being inside his head while his death was taking place, and with his hope in Erik, his faith in the world had also died. That hopelessness inside Charles Xavier looked like it could never heal untill that moment Logan appeared in his life - again, after saying_ "Go fuck yourselves" _to Charles and Erik when they started to recruit mutants for the very first time -. Should he believe? You and Erik sent me here, together. To what extent could he believe that?_

_He had started to hear the voices inside his head once again, and he knew it was time for another dose of Hank's serum. This time, whoever, he didn't feel miserable while the yellowish liquid was being injected into his veins: this time he knew that, involutarily, he was starting to hope._

" **... AND CUT!".**

James McAvoy looked up, almost surprised. Sometimes he forgot that he was in the middle of the shooting of a film, and all those things he was doing were only mandates of a script he had learned by heart previously.

Hugh Jackman approached him to congratulate him for the scene, to which he replied grateful with a smile, returning to that Scottish accent so marked and so characteristic of his, what was also one of the few things that made him realize he was not in the real world while performing.

"James?". He turned back, following the sound of the voice. There he was, smiling with that beautiful set of teeth of his, his marked jaw and his hair, which sometimes looked auburn and sometimes look almost reddish. Eri... Michael.  
"Hello". He smiled him back as he stood.  
"You were astonishing".  
"Oh, wow, thank you, I guess that, coming from you, it's quite important". James gave him a nudge, the two of them laughing.  
"Is that a compliment?".  
"Almost".  
"Are you doing anything tonight?".  
"Oh, why? Are you trying to seduce me, Fassbender?". He looked at Michael provocativetly, laughing afterwards.  
"That's what you'd like to", continued the taller, smiling again, about the laughter. "Now, seriously, are you doing anything or not?".  
"The truth is that no".  
"Great, then you have no excuse not to come party with us".  
"You and... who else?".  
"Well, you know, the cast".  
"If I don't have other choice...".  
"You can always stay home as the embittered man you are". Michael threw his tongue to him, as he began to walk up out of the studio, followed by a James who had not even changed clothes.  
"You say it like you are always the soul of the party".  
"Oh, _c'mon_! You know I am!".

They both laughed at the same time while they continued with their walk. James, unwittingly, found himself thinking about how different Michael and Erik were, and how was it possible: how can a person change that much, even if it was a performance? He wondered why the Hell he was thinking about that, and he even wiped the smile from his face, something that grey-eyed half-Irishman couldn't ignore.

"Something wrong?".  
"No, nothing at all. I was just thinking. Work, you know".  
"See what I mean when I say you're an embittered man?".

He couldn't help himself but smiling again: things were always like that when Michael Fassbender was around.

"Well, I'd better go and change my clothes", James said, looking at himself. The clothes he was wearing were still Charles's. "At what time do we meet tonight?".  
"Ten o'clock".  
" _Okey dokey_ , ten o'clock tonight, then". He winked just before disappearing, almost literally.

**

The bar was crowded, and they largely contributed to it, as they were not exactly a little group of people. James had drunk a few shots and he was starting to feel a little bit drunk: he didn't need to drink much to feel it. No matter how little he had drunk, it was always like he had found a liquor store and he had drunk it. Michael was quite the opposite: the German-Irish could drink as much as he could find without ever feeling satiated.  
They were in the typical bar, one of those that were fashionable at that time. James hated the place, it looked snob to him, with that horrible music and lights, but he didn't say anything out loud: anyways, he would end up doing the same elsewhere, and now, he could hardly hear the music.

Michael approached him and sat beside him on the sofa.

"Hey, how are you?". He slapped his tight, taking James by surprise.  
"F-F-Fine. I'm just a bit drunk, I'm afraid".  
"This place's horrible", said Michael, frowning and materializing James's thoughts in a sentence. "Do you wanna go somewhere else?".

James shrugged; he didn't care at that time. When he wanted to account, he was with Michael in a pub that was certainly much better than the other bar. Michael was drinking a jar of beer and James, completely misplaced, had a glass full of whiskey in one of his hands, to which he gave sips from time to time. 

Fassbender looked at him, and was in that moment when James felt a flash before his eyes and the whole scene, although almost imperceptibly, changed.

_"Charles". Michael still looking happy but an innate hostility that didn't characterize him at all was installed now in his eyes and in his being, as an inexplicable aura. Although James's brain was not working too fast at that time, he realized how Michael had called him, though he tried to think he had misheard him, or his imagination had played him a trick, so he just answered with a look with his eyes of the colour of a clear sky._  
"Tell me".  
_"I think it won't take you longer to lose all the dignity you have, my old friend", smiled the taller man._

 _This time James was left thinking that Michael had not called him_ old friend _in his life. They didn't know each other long enough to call themselves that, but that term reminded him of something..._

_"Michael...".  
"Michael?". He looked confused, like his own name sounded strange to him. "Who is Michael?"._

_James seemed to forget how drunk he was, like if the alcohol from his body had disappeared, all at one. He could only stare at Michael, open-mouthed, wondering if he was drunk enough to even forget who he really was._

_"Charles, you're starting to worry me. You look like you've just landed on Earth"._  
_"Michael, my name's not Charles"._  
_"Of course you're Charles, and my name is not Michael, I'm Erik. Are you really okay?".  
"Eh... I...". _

Another flashing light. Suddenly, all the changes he felt around him came back to its first state, leaving him really confused. What the fuck had he drunk? What have just happened? Without saying a word, he got up from his seat at the bar and went outside, but it did not take too long to be followed by Michael, worried about his friend.

"James, are you okay? ". He was leaning against the trunk of a tree, and he was breathing as if he had been several minutes underwater. At least it was good to know that Michael was calling him James again, if that had not really been a strange and vivid hallucination.  
"I... I've been... Ah... I think I'm too drunk", he concluded with not a very realistic grin. He thought it wouldn't take too long to puke, but it didn't happen.  
"C'mon, I'll take you home".


	2. I kissed a boy and I liked it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the second chapter. Hope you like it and, as I've said before, please, let me know all the mistakes so I can correct them, my English is not as perfect as it should be.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy!

Michael was wondering why the hell James had looked at him like he was a ghost. There he was now, sleeping in the passenger seat with his mouth half opened and barely making noise, almost like a corpse; it had not taken him too long to do it, just a second after touching the seat. The truth is that he had been acting really strange lately, and Michael could feel, every time he looked at him, that the Scottish wasn't sleeping well at night, if he really did it. He knew James wouldn't answer, so he did not ask him about it. James could be a person of the most open in many ways, but for certain things he was reserved to the limit.

They arrived to James's place, that lovely house next to the beach he had rented to live during the shooting of the film. Michael left the car with the keys of the building in his hand: James had given them to him just before he fell asleep. He opened the door, coming to his nose a deep smell of cleaning mixed with that other smell that Michael could only relate to James. He prefered to stay at a hotel, but looking at McAvoy's home, he started to regret it. He sighed. He didn't want to wake James up, he knew he needed that sleep he was taking. So, strange as it seemed, he lifted James in his arms, as if he was a small child. James was much lighter that he thought, and did not even flinch throughout the process.

He left James in bed and took his jacket off, covering him with the sheets. He was about to leave the room when he realize that James was grabbing him by one of his wrists, like a plea to not leave him alone, and all without even waking up. Michael stayed by his side, sitting in the bed, looking at James with some kind of compassion. What he didn't know was that James's brain was far away from there, but, curiosly, he was much closer to be awake than ever.

_"Charles". Erik was lying by side, with his head resting upon his hand, looking at him. James realized, this time without remembering what was happening before, that he had came back to that kind of alternative reality that had never existed where he was Charles Xavier for real and Michael answered to the name of Erik Lehnsherr. He tried to understand the situation and he realized they both were lying on a bed, face to face._  
_"How on Earth...?"._  
_"Shhh". Erik silenced him, reaching one of James's cheeks, caressing him with his fingertips. He was paralyzed, trying, once again, to understand what was happening, and not just for the obvious fact, because he didn't know what was Erik trying to do._  
_"E-e-erik... Erik?". He wasn't sure of what he had to do._  
_"Tell me". His hand had started to run down his face, touching his lips, making James's blood boil and build on his cheeks._  
_"I don't understand"._  
_"What do you not understand?".  
_ _"I don't...". In that moment, Erik interrupted him by pressing his lips agains James's, whose confusion was reaching levels he didn't even know. He just stayed there, his eyes wide opened, not corresponding the kiss, neither being able to separate himself from Erik._

_Without breaking the kiss, Erik placed himself astride James, placing his hands on his hips. James, the intruder of a scene that didn't belong to him, felt the erection of the other man underneath the clothes, and was in that moment when he reacted._

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!".

In that moment, James, sitting in the bed, sweaty, realized he was shouting to the air. The lights were off, but he could recognize the bedroom of his rented house, which calmed him in a way, and there was no one on the top of him... which didn't mean he was alone in the room. An annoyed growl made him turn his head. Michael was lying beside him on the bed, fully clothed, even with shoes. It was like he had stayed there accidentally, but seeing Michael reminded him what he had just had experimented and he couldn't help himself but blushing, his cheeks redder than ever, the blood against his pale skin. He felt drunk, altered and very, very confused.

He got up and went inside the bathroom. Once there, he opened the tap and moistened his face. He didn't even realize the slight erection under his pants. He just tried to settle down, and it worked in a way. _I've drunk too much, tomorrow this is going to pass..._ He got back to the bedroom, where Michael was just the way James had left him, and he occupied his place again, next to him. He couldn't help himself but observing him. The hair, which was impossible to determine the color at that time due to the lack of light. The jaw, strong and tough. The purely masculine features. The eyelids, which enclosed a pair of changing blue-gray eyes, as Michael himself was. Finally, his gaze fell on the lips. He thought those were the lips that had just kissed him, and despite how confused he was about it, he had to admit that it was not an unpleasant feeling. But of course, there was the small disadvantage that none of it was real, therefore, what had led him to imagine that? Did he really want to do it and the fact that everything was just a product of his mind downplayed the issue? Was he starting to go mad? When he wanted to realize, he was doing the same Erik was doing in his mind: with his fingertips, he was rubbing one of Michael's cheeks, who did not realize what was happening and was still sleeping peacefully. Interestingly, James was starting to feel really good with the contact. His skin was pale, warm and soft. He started to realize that he should start asking questions to himself that he never before had done, and his hand stopped moving itself on Michael's skin, but he did not pull away.

He thought that he was really stupid for wondering if he was... gay, just for the sake of having a dream he did not understand how it could have come out of his mind, but he also realized that now he was the one that wanted to brush his lips.

And so he did it.

Gently, gently, without even using his tongue, he kissed the lips of the man who was lying in front of him, who remained as indifferent as when he woke screaming at the empty room he thought at first. He felt that he was not drunk, and instead he had a nice feeling in his body he had never experienced, but that exploded in the middle of his chest and plunged him into an indescribable ecstasy. He had just had the experience of his life and the other person involved in it was not even aware of it, which was quite sad. He leaned his forehead against Michael's, who was hot like he had a fever and remained so during interminable time, until finally fell into the arms of Morpheus.

**

The first thing Michael noticed when he woke up was that someone was wrapping his waist with one arm. At those times he had no recollection of what had happened the day before, so he assumed he had finished, and unwittingly, in some woman's bed.  
Without opening his eyes he settled down again, feeling a breath that was not his against his chest. Well, at least his bedmate was still asleep. He opened his eyes and... no, there wasn't any woman. James was there, sleeping peacefully, sticked to him almost like a second skin. At that moment he remembered everything that had happened the previous day, and at least he could drop a sigh of relief when he realized that at least he had not drunk enough to have done something to regret for the rest of his life.

He glanced at his wristwatch. Seven o'clock. In a couple of hours they would have to be in the studio to shoot, so he decided to finally wake up James.

"James".  
"Mhmmm...".  
"Wake up".  
"What's up?". James answered while he sat up, with the thick voice of someone who has been sleeping for many hours, which was not entirely true, since they had come home quite late. The time? Who would remember that?  
"We should get up. In a few hours we have to shoot".  
"Oh, shit... sometimes I forget".  
"Do you mind if I use your shower?".  
"Not at all. Make yourself at home", said as he lied down again and covered his eyes with one arm. Michael laughed at him, just before going into the bathroom, closing the door and opening the shower faucet.


	3. You abandoned me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick upload, let me know the mistakes!
> 
> Enjoy ♥

The two previous hours of their arrival to the studio seemed very short. There was James, more sleepy than awake even that he had a shower before and had slept through the night, for the first time in a very long time. He hadn't thought about the night before again, he didn't want to. He blamed the alcohol for everything, but he knew on the inside that it was a lie, but he wanted to keep that lie to himself as much as he could. Anyway, unless he opened his mouth, no one would know what had happened, not even Michael, who was chatting, far from there, with Jennifer Lawrence, the ultimate expression of joviality at that time. Yes, that would be the best thing to do.

"Ready?". Bryan Singer, the director, put one of his hands in one of James' shoulders while he was smiling at him. "We start in two minutes".  
"Sure. I was born ready, you know". He smiled back, trying to put on airs of self-sufficiency, and they both laughed together.  
"In that case... I'll see you later", he said, just before disappearing into the crowd of people who were behind the cameras.

"And... **ACTION**!".

_The mission at the Pentagon had gone much better than he, secretly, hoped. There were Logan and himself, in a kitchen in the building who claimed to be the safest of the United States, only a few steps to meet Quicksilver, who had proved to be an individual of the most useful, and, of course, Erik, the man he wanted to see the less in that moment. The doors of the elevator would be open at anytime soon, and the truth was that he was quite nervous about it. He feared to find something of his old friend Erik in that man and not being able to hate him for that. He feared that, once again and like always, Magneto would find the way to get away with it._

_The doors were opened, finally, and there he was, in a white inmate suit, accompanied by Quicksilver, with his silver jacket and his Pink Floyd shirt._

_"Charles". The expression of surprise on Erik's face was answered with the strongest punch that Xavier was able to give. It threw him to the ground, while Charles could not help himself but complaining about his hand sore from the blow inflicted. "Good to see you too, old friend. And walking". Erik remained on the floor, with his hand placed right were Charles had beaten him._  
_"No thanks to you". Charles was as acid as he could in his answer._  
_"You're the last person in the world I expected to see today". There was something similar to happiness mixed with really deep nostalgia in his eyes, and Charles had to look away, but briefly._  
_"Believe me, I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to". He was still trying to be hostile to him, though not without difficulty. "If we get you out of here we do it my way, no killing". He tried to reminded him this way that he, Charles Xavier, hated him for having become a murderer monster after all the efforts he had made to not lose him on the spiral of hatred that Erik had created for himself._  
_"No helmet. I couldn't disobey you even if I wanted". Erik was sarcastic in his response, all without taking his eyes off of Charles, who was trying to keep his gaze to show him how much he had come to hate him, though he was not sure if that was the real sign that the other was getting._  
_"I'm never getting inside of that head again". He stepped forward, to within a few inches of Erik. "I need your word, Erik"._

_Erik nodded, simply. The tension had settled between them and could even be felt in the air. Quicksilver wondered what was happening, but instead of asking just watched the scene with strangeness, wondering if those two needed to punch each other or a motel room. The scene was interrupted by a group of policemen who bounced into that moment, trying to cope with the intrusion of the Pentagon. Everyone turned to face the gunmen, and that was when Erik started moving all the knives and metal elements from the kitchen, in order to attack the policemen, trying, just minutes after he had given his word, to break his promise to Charles._

_"Erik, no!". Charles put his hand on Erik's chest, trying to stop him, although being Quicksilver in the room, it was not necessary; without knowing how, in a second, all the cops were on the floor, and the bullets they shot had gone directly to crash behind them._

_And that was how the mission in the Pentagon ended. They came out alive, and with Erik, which, even though that it bothered Charles, was the important thing and also the reason they had gone there. After that, Logan, Erik, Hank and Charles said goodbye to Peter, ergo, Quicksilver, and took one of Charles's private jets to go to Paris, where they hoped to find Raven, who was calling herself Mystique at that time._

_The atmosphere remained tense with the presence of Erik, not only between Charles and Erik, but between Erik and Logan. They talked, hostile, but the conversation did not last too long. There they were, the four, Hank flying the plane and Logan, Erik and Charles seated at a certain distance between them._

_"How did you lose them?". Erik finally spoke, without looking up, turning to Charles._  
_"The treatment for my spine fixed my DNA", Charles simply replied, staring at him. At that time Erik raised his head and looked at him._  
_"You sacrificed your power so you could walk?". Surprise couldn't leave his face, with a hint of a wry grin._  
_"I sacrificed my power so that I could sleep... What do you know about it?". He looked away, between hurted and weakened by the presence of his old friend._  
_"I lost my fair share". Charles laughed at his affirmation bitterly._  
_"Hah, dry your eyes, Erik, it doesn't justify what you've done"._  
_"You have no idea what I've done". Erik was still staring at Charles, penetrating, like trying to tell him something that only the two of them could understand, but Xavier was far from everything Erik was trying to tell him without words._  
_"I know that you took the things that mean most to me". The resentment was palpable in his voice._  
_"Well maybe you should have fought harder for them", Erik countered._

_Charles opened his eyes wide, crossing Erik with them. He couldn't believe what he had just said. He stood, about to lose control of himself._

_"Do you want to fight, Erik? I will give you a fight!". He approached him, tears struggling to escape from his eyes. He grabbed his shirt, angry. "YOU ABANDONED ME, YOU TOOK HER AWAY AND YOU ABANDONED ME!"._

_At that time, James realized that the cameras were gone. He also realized that he was sober, yes, but back in that place that was not his own, living a life that, fictional or real, was not his. There were tears of pure rage in his eyes, and Erik was facing him, showing vulnerability for the first time._

_"Angel, Azazel, Emma, Banshee... Our mutant brothers and sisters... all dead! Captured, experimented on, butchered. Where were you Charles!? We were supposed to protect them! Where were you when your own people needed you? Hiding. You and Hank. Pretending you were something you're not. You abandoned us all"._

_The plane had started to become unstable, prey to what seemed turbulence, although everyone there were aware that it was only the power of Magneto, led by his own emotions. James was petrified, being aware that everything he was experiencing was very, very real, producing him chills. And then, on top of that, James began to feel something he had never felt before._

_It started in the back of his head, like a slight pain, but soon it expanded, becoming the most unbearable feeling in the world. There were voices, unknown voices, all talking at once, shouting, forbidding him to think, making that, unwittingly, he materialized a heartrending cry that filled the air. It was also the moment that he realized that his legs were beginning to fail; they didn't answer the orders from his brain. The movement in the plane stopped, suddenly, and Erik grabbed him in time, just before he fell._

_"Charles...". Erik's eyes expressed an infinite sorrow. He was kneeling on the plane, holding him with his arms, making Erik remember that moment on the beach in Cuba, when Charles blamed the bullet that had hit his spine. James only saw his face; everything else was blurred, as if Erik was the only thing that connected him to the real world at the time. He saw the tears in his eyes and realized how out of place that resulted in him._

_Logan had risen, and he was in the cockpit with Hank. He heard him say something like_ they have returned to business as usual _and silence prevailed throughout the plane, except for the hum of the engine. The voices in James' head had begun to relax. He realized that they were merely the thoughts of many people, and could force his mind away from them. Did all of that mean that in this reality he had the telepathic powers of Charles Xavier? He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them to collide with Erik's cold irises. Could he read his mind? Would he know what he was thinking? The only answer was to try, and although he knew it was something he shouldn't do, curiosity got him; clutching his fingertips to his temple, he plunged into the depths of Erik._


	4. Where is my mind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always: mistakes, please!
> 
> Enjoy ♥

Contrary to what he was expecting to find, the first feeling that overpowered him was a pleasant tranquility. Through Erik's eyes, he saw long white curtains moving to the rhythm of the air coming through an open window. He was lying in bed, naked, and he could see himself lying beside him, staring at him without a garment over his body, too.

"How long are we going to be like this? How long do you think we can endure without anyone noticing?". His voice was soft, but the concern was printed in his words.  
"Charles, shut up. Do not talk about that now". He approached him dangerously, until their noses collided. There was silence, in an intimate moment only the two of them could understand, and Erik lowered his voice until it was almost an inaudible whisper". I just know I want to stay here forever.

Charles smiled, thinking that he had never imagined Erik saying something like that before, and kissed him, sticking his tongue into his mouth, almost shyly, but with desire. The kiss was multiplied, becoming a festival of bites, kisses and licks in which both were tangled. Charles stood over him and bit his neck, but soon they were rolling on the bed, until their roles were exchanged, and now was Erik who was on him, grinning, holding his wrists.

"Stop pretending that you're in charge. Give me what is mine". He bit his lower lip, that delicious mouth of the colour of the cherries, trying to stifle a smile. He also bit the lobe of his right ear, gently, and started kissing his neck, creating a downward path that brought him dangerously to the erection Charles had.  
"Erik... Oh!".

At that time, Erik introduced Charles's cock in his mouth, playing with his tongue, savoring it in its entirety. Xavier tried to make the impossible, but he was unable to drown out the moans of pleasure that escaped from his mouth. He bit his lower lip until it bled and tangled his fingers in Erik's hair, giving it little jerks occasionally, unwittingly, prey of the pleasure he was feeling. But Erik did not wait for Charles to explode. He quickly lifted up, getting back in front of his face, sticking their foreheads together.

"Did you like it?". Erik didn't allow him to answer, sealing his lips with a kiss. "Well, I assure you that you'll like this even more...". 

Using his own saliva as a lubricant, he introduced one of his fingers on Charles, who would launched a cry if Erik wasn't there to cover his mouth in time. He was fascinated about the fact that Charles always behave as if it were the first time he had sex, as if he was nothing more than an inexperienced teenager. Erik began to move his finger in small circles, and soon he replaced it with his penis, always paying attention to Charles; he didn't want him to hurl a shout loud enough to let the whole mansion know what they were doing.

"Oh, Erik, yes...". 

He started with slow and intense movements, enjoying it, watching Charles, who even put his eyes blank at times, during the most intense ecstasy of his existence. He could probably die at that time, and would not have complains because he would be aware that he had nothing better to do in his life. He felt one of Erik's hands on his hip, and he had one leg over his shoulder and as he was increasing the pace, gradually, more and more, in that mixture of pain and pleasure that was as close to nirvana without leaving Earth as it could be.

It was brief, but intense; Erik had a silent orgasm, exploding inside of Charles, filling him with his cum. Just after, and without waiting for a response from his companion, he returned to the task in which he was before he have penetrated him, and this time was Charles who came inside that mouth hungry for everything that could be offered to him. He turned up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and kissed him, making Charles taste his own cum. Both were exhausted, lying Charles in Erik's chest, feeling himself as the happiest person on the planet, both dams of a pleasure that could not be expressed in words... 

"James! James!".

He felt someone hitting him in the face, without excessive force. He opened his eyes. He was not inside Erik's head, but he wasn't in the plane with his legs useless and in Erik's arms. There was Michael, the real Michael and not Erik, looking at him with the concern reflected on his face. James could not help himself and the blood started to accumulate in his cheeks, embarrassed by something that only he knew.

"What happened?".  
"James, you've fainted...". He realized that he hadn't moved. The last thing he remembered from his own life was the last thing he had really lived. It was not like in the pub, when it had simply... happened. How to call something he did not understand?  
"I'm fine, don't worry". Michael helped him to sit down, and offered him a bottle of water, which he accepted. They were alone, and James could only feel deep gratitude for Michael; he had no reason to worry so much about him, but he did, and selflessly.  
"Thank you".  
"You have nothing to thank me. The others had to go, plus I've asked them to leave you some space, but let me tell you that they were as concerned as I am, and you know it". He smiled, but it soon faded. "But I... you see, James, I think something's wrong. I know you don't sleep well. And sometimes you behave so... strange, as if you were not here. Promise me that all goes well... or is there something you should tell me?".

 _I'm going crazy_. Was that what he should say? And what is more important: if he decided to tell him everything, what would Michael think? Because in an indirect way, all of that concerned him... or at least he was involved in it, even before knowing its existence. He decided that, at least for now, it was better to remain silent and appear normal. He was an actor, for God's sake, if he could not do it, nobody could. 

"It's nothing, I just don't sleep well these days by the jet lag, you know, I have not been able to set up my internal clock". He laughed, realizing that somehow he was not lying to him. "Probably that was the reason I've fainted.  
"James, don't push yourself too hard", just answered Michael. They were silent for a moment, in which James tried to calm himself and avoid eye contact with Michael as much as possible. "How about tonight we meet and watch the game and forget a bit the work and all the other stuff?".

James thought long and hard... or all the long and hard he could in such a short space of time. He was thinking very seriously about declining the offer, but, after all, he was trying to appear normal, right? So he would do that. 

"Sure, why not?".  
"Good", Michael smiled, as if he were actually waiting for him to answer positively too eagerly. That was the ability of Michael: he made everyone seem important in his eyes, even if it wasn't like that. This empathy he felt for the people was probably one of the things that James most liked of Michael, and he thought this without taking into account any connotation that was not other than purely friendly. "See you later then". He gave him a brief pat on the shoulder, and after sayin it, he stood, walking away through a silent farewell. James stayed there for a while, thinking, just thinking that, perhaps, just maybe, he had something in common with the Charles from Erik's mind, but just maybe.


	5. Into the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistake... you know what to do.
> 
> Enjoy! ♥

That evening was quite cold, more than one man accustomed to the climate of London would expect from the United States. Michael and James were sitting on the terrace of a bar watching a football match on a giant screen while they were drinking some jars of beer, James, without much interest, while Michael was already with his second one.

"Is it me or it's freezing here?", James finally said, zipping his jacket.  
"I must say that you're right", Michael laughed. "You want to leave?".  
"I would prefer it, really. Anyway ...", he looked at the screen while smiling. " ...the match result is pretty obvious".

He didn't know exactly how it had happened, but suddenly they were at his house, installed on the couch, drinking a bottle of whiskey that James had brought from Scotland on his last visit. They were both slightly drunk, and Michael was telling something that neither quite understand, but they were laughing loudly. For a moment everything seemed normal, as if nothing had never crossed James' mind. There were the two of them, as always, with excess of alcohol in their veins, as the pair of friends they used to be since they had met, a few years ago, when they started to shoot the first X-Men film in which both were, _First Class_. Maybe it was because the Irish and the Scots did not differ as much as they themselves believed, but their friendship could be seen from distance. And so it went, even when they finished filming, not knowing they would be together in other employment situation: they called each other, sometimes they visited each other - James had chosen to settle almost permanently in London, and Michael was a little in everywhere - and, lately, they had almost become best friends. That's why James was so confused about what he was feeling. Because Michael was his friend, and he had always been... right? Also, Michael was the most womanizer man on the planet, which was normal, considering that his companion was a handsome, famous and impressive ease of word man.

He realized that he had stopped talking, that he had even stopped laughing. Michael looked at him, eyes slightly tarnished by drunkenness, but with the concern installed in them again.

"Are you okay?". James, who was reclining on the sofa, leaned forward, slowing down when he ran into the eyes of Michael. He stared at him, not knowing exactly what to say or do while breathing deeply. He was so drunk he did not know if he was talking to Erik or to Michael, if he was in the mansion, on the plane, in the studio or at home, and suddenly he realized it did not matter, that he had to do it. And so, without saying a single word, he approached Michael and pressed his lips against his, putting one hand on the other's face, who had remained static, without responding to the kiss. He thought he was dreaming, but the effect of the alcohol began to disappear and he realized that no, James was there, with his mouth over his, kissing him with such an unusual passion, while he was feeling butterflies in the stomach, and a real sense of welfare he had never experienced, as if he had taken out something that he had stuck in the depths of his chest since a very long time ago.

He got away from James, more prey of the impression than any other feeling. He stood up, keeping his gaze on him, interrogative, confused and slightly... disappointed? Was that what James felt for him, after all?

"Michael... I... you have to forgive me... I didn't want to...". James looked at him, feeling really guilty, being aware that he had just committed a huge mistake, but Michael still there, standing, not saying a thing, looking at him as if he was doing it for the first time in his life. James stood up too, trying to get close to him, but Michael pulled away, walking out the door in a flash.

He did not try to follow him. Suddenly, he felt very, very tired. His head was about to explode, and the sense of guilt, that he had probably ruined his friendship with Michael, was chasing him from inside his subconscious.

Michael had entered the car, but he had not started it. He was there, sitting, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, thinking about what had just happened. Was James drunk enough not to have been aware of what he had done or he really wanted it? And if so, had that feeling always been there? Was James... gay? It wasn't that it really mattered, he had no kind of prejudice towards the sexual orientation of people, regardless of what it was, but, in this case, the thing was that his best friend was in love with him, or, at least, he was attracted to him, so, he just can't ignore the fact.

He lit a cigarette, while opening the window. He took a deep drag, trying to compose himself. They would have to talk, right? He resolved that yes, but once they both were sober. He felt that he was no longer drunk, but what he believed and his actual situation were two very different things, plus James, regardless of what they had done was wanted or not, was drunk, and really drunk. And they had always done that: meet, and drink to the absolute limits, but nothing had happened before. He sighed, watching the smoke escaping from his nose and crashing against the glass. Finally he started the engine, all while James was watching him from the window of his home, feeling really miserable.

**

The water from the shower was burning and reddening the skin of his back, but he didn't really care. He needed to unwind himself, and although, supposedly, the best for that was a cold shower, the fact of feeling that his own skin was sending him silent messages of entreaty unwinded him more than all the cold showers in the world.

He had behaved like an idiot.

He had not stopped thinking about it at any time, even when he saw Michael's car recede, at a speed higher than the legally permitted, as always he used to do. He could argue that he had done it unintentionally, that he was too drunk to realize what he was doing, but maybe things would never be the same againt between them, besides, in that case, he would have to keep pretending that he was not feeling anything real for Michael Fassbender. Because, yes, he had already made up his mind: maybe it was not love, but it really was an indescribable attraction.

He was returned to reality by the sound of his mobile phone ringing, with an unfamiliar ringtone. He left the shower, through the smoke produced by the hot water, he put a towel around his waist and answered the phone.

"James?". A female voice called him across the line, a voice that he wasn't able to identify.  
"Yes, who is it?".  
"I'm Anne, you not remember me?".

Vaguely, but yes. Anne was a Welsh girl he had met one night in a bar in London, and with whom he had sex several, almost consecutive, nights, but nothing more. Or maybe it had been nothing more just for him, but for her, it was not clear. Since he had gone to the United States, he had not heard anything from her, and he assumed that it was the normal flowing of things, even in that kind of relationships, so he was no longer worried about the issue.

"Yeah, sorry, I've been drinking a bit today...".  
"They told me you were in America, that's why I'm calling you at this time. It's half past six in the evening there, right?", she said, while laughing with a beautiful lilting laugh. "Have you already drunk at this time?".  
"The work stresses me", said James, pretending that his life was a wreck, to which both laughed. "By the way, did you call for something specific? I'm sorry I couldn't call you these days, work leaves me no time", he lied. He had no intention of calling her, but, now that she was doing it, he was trying to be as pleasant as possible.  
"Ah, no, I just wanted to know how you were, and wondering when we can meet again". He remembered Anne, her blonde hair, her full lips and her smooth skin he kissed entirely while in bed... but quickly those thoughts were replaced by pictures from Erik's mind and the kiss he had him given to Michael. He shook his head. "Sure, I wish we can meet when I return... the problem is that I have no clue of when that it will be. I'll call you, okay? By far, I'm fine, I hope the same to you...".  
"Yes, of course. And I will wait impatiently that call. I was pleased to talk to you".  
"Same. See you soon".  
"See you soon, _Jamesey_ ".

He hung up, feeling again like the worst person in the world, a compulsive fucking liar. Apparently, that girl really like him, and he felt like he was using her. Why does everything had to be so complicated? Without dressing himself, still with the towel around his waist, he sat on the couch, taking back the vessel that he had left on the table when he kissed Michael. It was still full of whiskey, and he drained it, returning to feel that the level of alcohol in his blood was becoming excessive. In that case, it was good, very good. He relaxed the muscles and threw his head back, starting to feel slightly euphoric... but all that, as it always happened to him when he was starting to feel well, passed, when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching him.

**

He stood, with his five senses awake for the first time in hours. He ran into his room and slammed the door behind him, leaving the towel fell into the floor and starting to put some clothes on: jeans and a blue shirt, like the color of his eyes. He didn't even put his shoes on. He opened the nightstand and pulled out a letter opener that he had always, without knowing why, saved and carried everywhere as if it was an indispensable object. At least this time he could use it, as a weapon, to defend himself if the intruder had bad intentions towards him. His beats were unrestrained; he could heard the beating of his own heart in the ears, and he breathed as if it was lack of air in the room; for a moment he thought he was going to faint. With the knife in his hand and hidden it behind his back, James approached the door, sticking himself to it. Nothing. There wasn't a single sound. For a moment he thought that maybe it was a hallucination product of his drunkenness, but he realized that he had never had such a realistic hallucination, and he could not think those things after all that had happened to him in the past days. But he was still at his own home, which indicated that he was still in the real world, _his_ real world.

He opened the door carefully, feeling twinges in the stomach of sheer panic. He was conscious of being a coward guy, and those were the consequences. But those steps had been close, too real to be a product of his own imagination. He crept forward, avoiding even breathe as he was strongly pressing the knife in his fist, so hard that he thought that he had hurt himself. Suddenly, something fell behind him. Quickly, he turned... to see the bottle of whiskey rolling on the floor, but no one was there. 

There was no one nowhere in that house more than himself.

He sat on the couch after a while, when he made sure, again, that nobody was walking around. He was still nervous, wondering what the hell had happened. He went to the kitchen and took a couple of pills to try to control the pain that had begun to reign in his head, when he noticed that there was something he had not seen before there, above the kitchen table. A paper. A note in sepia color, folded in half. Someone had entered his house just to leave a note? It seemed so surreal that he even laughed. It was one of those situations where you don't know if you must laugh or do the exact opposite.

He approached the table and took the note. He was flooded by a familiar scent, but he couldn't identify it, like the letters written in pen on the paper.

"Don't be afraid. You will understand everything very soon." 

Was that note addressed to him? Did anyone know what was happening to him? He had a chill, once again, feeling a paralyzing fear of the unknown which unfolds before your eyes for the first time. What did he need to understand? That he had lost his mind? He couldn't stop wondering, but he couldn't find a coherent response. Finally, considering that it was the best he could do, he put the rest of his clothes on and he went out.


	6. Mon coeur s'ouvre a ta voix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me more time than the usual to translate this chapter. Hope you enjoy it. Let me know the mistakes, you know English is not my first language.
> 
> See ya!

Michael and James hadn't spoken again since that day, except for those moments when they were on stage pretending to be another couple of people who they would never really be. James wanted Michael to make the first move, he really needed it, because, as he never was tired to recognize, he was a man too coward to do such things, while Michael, even though at first was more than determined to discuss the matter, something he had decided while he was sitting in the car after James kissed him, clutching the steering wheel and thinking almost violently, he didn't feel able, finally, to do so. He became more and more hesitant about it as the hours passed.

So, there they were, both without knowing how to say something that they didn't even know how to explain, none of them, trying to avoid it as much as they could, both, the one and the other. James also had to add to that the fact that he felt the need to talk about the note that appeared in his kitchen; he was dying to share it with someone, since it was always shouting from the back of his mind, constantly, trying to find an answer of what had happened, not to tell the fact that, after seeing the note, when he returned home after a long walk in which he had tried to escape from everything that was happening to him, he had discovered, in the back of the paper where the message was written, a tiny inscription, three letters: C. F. X. They were written with a very familiar handwriting, very similar to his, maybe a little neater, more elegant, as if he had paid special attention in what he was writing, although he knew that he had not written it. It was something he couldn't help but relate to everything that had been happening recently, giving him some serious headaches.

There were only a few weeks left for the shoot to be finished, which also meant that they were only a few weeks away from all the press conferences, interviews and premieres, among many other things. That particular night the whole cast had met at a private party of the producer. And there they were, once again, with alcohol all around, the notion of time and space almost ready to be irreversibly lost that night.

James was sitting at the bar counter with a glass of whiskey on the rocks in his hands. Hugh Jackman had sat down beside him, and they were having incomplete conversations, as if they were lost at a certain point, which was understandable, seeing their state.

He was looking at Michael, who was sitting in the distance, on a couch, talking to a redhead girl, whispering in her ear. From where James was, he could only see her back, and her scarlet hair was like a cascade of fire on its entire length. She was probably one of those girls that once you see her, you can't do nothing but imagine her on the cover of a magazine. James couldn't help himself but feeling a twinge of... jealousy? Was it jealousy? Yes, it probably was jealousy. He saw how they began to kiss, and he was about to look away when he realized that Michael had his eyes open as he was kissing the girl, and he kept them, as fixed by some kind of magnetism, to him, piercing James with his eyes with a vibrant flash of animal instinct throbbing from his eyes. He was kissing the girl almost hungrily, biting her lips, making their tongues interwine, but his eyes still glued to James as if he just wanted to excite him by doing that. And, to tell the truth, or at least just taking in count the growing erection in the pants of the Scot, he was getting it. The redhead was kissing his neck; he was biting his lower lip, dam of the excitement, biting but without separating those feline eyes of the man who had kissed him a few days ago.

What was he trying to do?

A strange sensation fell down the neck of James, just like a glass of cold water, something he couldn't define quite well. His cheeks were flushed, and he had begun to sweat. He had to get out of there or he would die among his own excitement.

The cold air of the night made him feel better. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As the days gone by, more confused he was, or so it seemed. Only that this time the cause was not self-inflicted: Michael wanted something, and though perhaps he was not clear of what he wanted, he knew that it was something. The door opened; he had had left the party just a couple of minutes before and there he was, Michael Fassbender, Michael-fucking-Fassbender, who he wanted to, and he knew then, kiss, bite and taste untill there was nothing left from him.

"What...?". He had opened his mouth to speak, but not before having thought about it carefully, but Michael had cornered him against the wall, hushing him with a kiss, with the most intense kiss that James had probably ever received, and he should say, in his favor, that they hadn't been just a few.

He tasted to cigarrettes and alcohol, and James realized that he had never tasted anything better. His body was almost completely resting on his, the palms of his hands against the wall, being the second skin of James, making him feel the erection in his tailor pants.

Michael broke the kiss, but he did not separate himself from James. Nose to nose, their breaths heavy against each other. They were in a place where anyone could see them: Charles and Erik, Michael and James, it didn't matter after all.

"No... This is not right...". Michael closed his eyes, tightening his jaw. He took James's face in his hands and looked him right into his eyes again. "Why did you have to do that? I couldn't stop thinking about it since then...". There was some kind of appeal within those endless blue orbs that James couldn't understand, but suddenly, he felt deeply sad. Guilty, and did not know exactly why. - James, I'm not gay.  
"Me neither".  
"Then what the hell are we doing?". Although there were just a few millimeters, Michael turned away from James, removing his hands from his face.  
"I don't know, does it matter?".  
"Sure it matters, James. What do you want from the rest of the world to think of us? Do you think that's going to make any good to our career?".  
"I don't really care. Right now the only thing that matters to me is knowing that you don't hate me after what I did, and... well, we're here".  
"You don't understand".  
"Maybe not. Don't go, Michael".

Michael looked at him deeply, in that way he only knew. He put his hands on James's face, and he kissed him again, this time more slowly, with less intensity, but with the same desire: James assumed that that was the difference between sexual attraction and love. Did he just think that?

Finally, although he really didn't want to, Michael departed from him, shaking his head almost imperceptibly, and returned to the party, closing the door behind him and leaving James, who was feeling, at the same time, awful and amazing.

**

The party was almost officially ended. Just stayed there about ten people, of which only two were probably able to stand: Michael Fassbender was one of them.

He was sitting on a sofa, his legs crossed, staring blakly at some point of the wall paper with a bottle of beer, probably the last alcoholic drink he would drink that night. James hadn't re-entered after what had happened out, and Michael was so frustrated that he had tried to retaliate himself having sex with the redhead woman in the bathroom, which, at the end, was even worse.

He was thinking of James and his almost perennial genuine happiness; in his heavy Scottish accent, which made many people don't understand him completely everytime he stopped imitating the English accent of Charles Xavier. Michael loved that there wasn't almost anything in the world that didn't make him laugh, like the fact that people always asked him if he dyed his beard, because its color didn't match the color of the hair of his head, orange and brown. That was James. His eyes were of the color of the sky on a sunny day. He had the most beautiful smile in the world. It was physically impossible to hate James.

And that was what Michael had been thinking all these days, all the time. In James. In his best friend. In his impressive best friend.

But he felt he couldn't do that. He couldn't do that to himself. At that time, he was as _guilty_ as James. Even more. Yes, probably more. He was as guilty as him, which implied that now he couldn't escape a serious talk with James, once and for all. He had to tell him, even if he was lying, that that night had been a mistake, that among them there was nothing, and it would never be. Friends? He hoped so.

"What a night, huh?". Jennifer Lawrence had sat beside him, while leaving the pair of high heels in her hand on the ground.  
"Don't even say it", he granted, smiling slightly but no joy.  
"Oops, something happens to you". Jennifer became serious. He had to admit it: although in the beginning there were only occasional sexual encounters of which no one knew anything between them, now existed a very close relationship, in which they realized that they didn't need to say too much to understand each other; Michael felt good when Jennifer was around, knowing that she would understand whatever he was trying to say.  
"What makes you to think that?". He put the bottle of beer on a table near him, while raising an eyebrow.  
"That answer, not to say that you've been here like two hours as a tormented... Hmmm, I would say that it is your little heart what is suffering". She pointed his chest with a finger while smiling sweetly.  
"I won't say no to that, but that doesn't mean a yes".  
"Oh, come on! You have to tell me that! Who's the incredible creature able to fascinate you? Do not tell me it was that redhead lady because...". She realized that she was about to say something really offensive, so she stayed quiet, cutting in half the sentence.  
"Because... ?". Michael looked amused for the first time since the conversation had begun.  
"Oh, nothing. Forget about it. Can I deduce that is not her?".  
"Yes, you can".  
"Oh, so now I'm out of ideas. You'll have to shoot, cowboy".  
"I'm not gonna do it".  
"C'mon Michael...".  
"No".  
"Please".

Michael looked at her, more serious than he used to. Jennifer knew it was time to confess, but something serious would have happened to Michael, looking at that funeral face he had, at least in her opinion. Would Michael be in love with a married woman? Or with her?! Or...? She realized that she was beginning to think too outlandish things, and she decided to silence her head, waiting for Michael himself to give her the answer.

"Jennifer, it's James. I think I like James".  
"James?!". Michael looked around, worried because she had shouted the name too loud, but no one seemed to have listened it.  
"Yes. James".  
"James McAvoy?".  
"Who else, then?".  
"Did you know that it's rude to answer a question with another question?".  
"Did you know that it is what you just did?".  
"Seriously... James? There's anything wrong with that, I mean, on the contrary, but, Michael, you've never told me that you were...".  
"No. It's not what you think. I am not gay, or bisexual, or whatever".  
"But you like James".

Michael snorted, looking at her as if he was about to hit her.

"That is going to end".  
"Does that mean that it has already started? Wait, does it mean that James... likes you too?".  
"It hasn't begun. No. Not that. And yes, I think that he likes me too".  
"If not that, then what it is?"  
"We kissed".  
"That's something".  
"Jennifer, I don't want to break this bottle in your head".  
"Oh, I see you're violent. You're really in love then". She threw his tongue while she stood. "Michael, I'm only going to tell just you one thing". She was very serious, suddenly, as few times she did. "If you're really sure of what you feel, to hell with everything. Whatever happens, choose what you really feel you need".

She kissed him on the forehead and smiled one last time, something that Michael returned gratefully. Jennifer could be a really wonderful woman when she wanted.

"Thank you".  
"Oh, shut up. I'm going to the hotel, I think it's time, and my feet are killing me. See you tomorrow, honey. Rest".  
"I will. You too. See you tomorrow, Jen".

And James returned to his head. He remembered the day he met him, and not even in his wildest dreams, he could imagine how it would end. James had introduced himself to Michael, without waiting for someone to do it for them. With a big, friendly smile and a very marked accent from Glasgow, that pair of blue eyes told him that his name was James McAvoy, but Michael could call him whatever he wanted - he said that while laughing -, and probably from that day on, it would be very often. Everything that had happened since then had been so fast that scared him. And now, as the culmination... that.

Michael realized that he needed to sleep, and that he needed to relax for a couple of hours or he would explode. And so, with that in mind, he got up and left, being the last person to leave the room.


	7. You don't know me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

"Charles".

He would recognize that voice even if his head was underwater. He felt his lips upon his forehead, while he was still thinking about the fact that the only moments when all trace of hate and hostility that characterized Erik dissappeared were when he said his name. He called him again, gently, to which he opened his eyes, as he was drawing a smile.

"Good morning". Erik smiled. Charles answered his grin with a brief touch of his lips. "It's ten o'clock, if we don't wake up soon, I think the boys will explode the kitchen".  
"Well, we'll have to buy a new one then". Charles sat until he was at the height of Erik. He bit his neck, an innocent little nibble that took Erik headfirst into ecstasy.  
"You're right. We will have to buy a new kitchen". Erik smiled again, this time without malice.

Charles. He loved Charles so much... He didn't know when it had happened, but it did. He was thinking that as he kissed his mouth, his forehead, his jaw, his neck, his entire body, tirelessly and hungrily. He loved him so much that, sometimes, he believed that he would be able to let go everything he believed in to be the rest of their lives just like that, everything reduced to a moment of eternal glory. But he knew, too, that he couldn't. He couldn't live his whole life being the secret lover of the love of his life, as he neither could live forever defending a cause that disgusted him. He was a mutant, and he didn't want to live how and with humans. They were superior, and the whole world needed to know it. He was there, with Charles against his chest, his fingers tangled in his brown hair, thinking about how he would have to leave him, while thinking how much he loved him. It was contradictory, but it was true, and it was all he knew for sure in the world.

Sometimes, if you love something, you have to let it go.

James snapped awake, breathing heavily, but he was not even having a nightmare. Those dreams and those visions did nothing but increase with the passage of time, and he didn't know why exactly, but he was deeply affected by them. That was the last day of shooting. He had faith that everything would end thereafter: what was happening to him and the situation with Michael. Was all so strange... the best and worst experience anyone could live. Michael loved him back, but the problem was that he didn't want to, so was forcing himself, and with that, forcing James too, to pretend that there was nothing more between them than friendship, a very good one, but just a friendship, after all. He knew that he should do something, but he really wondered if there was really something he could do. Jumping into a pool without knowing if there was water inside was a good choice? He knew that it wasn't, but it was the only one he had.

Michael, meanwhile, was in bed, sleeping after a long party night from which he didn't remember even a half. Someone was in bed, lying on his side, but it mattered little at the moment. His brain was still floating in a large block of thick fog, and although he knew he had to get up, he didn't feel capable to do it. Great, the last day of filming and he would be late. But... blame James, then, just for having his mind really confused.

"Erik".

The voice seemed eerily familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. It was a feminine voice, sweet while imbued with a grudge, two emotions he never thought he could find in someone intermingled. He opened his eyes. The light just came into the room through the gaps of the blind, but he managed to see her. That woman, who had spoken, the owner of that resentful but nostalgic voice, her skin... blue.

Even though he was swimming between nebulae, Michael managed to react, getting up, which made him automatically carry the hands to his head, drowning a wince all over his face. He really wondered what had happened the day before, but nothing came to his mind. The woman, an alleged imitation of Mystique, or what is the same, Raven, was watching him, impassive, through her indescribable irises.

"Who are you?". Michael was slightly slurred.  
"Oh, sometimes I forget what happened to you. My name is Mystique. Although you may get to remember". Resentment still permeating every syllable she uttered, as if Michael had done something really bad to her, but she still couldn't get angry with him.  
"Hey...", Michael stared. "I don't know who you are and what do you want, but you're wrong and...".  
"Erik. Listen to me".  
"Don't call me Erik. My name is Michael".  
"That's what you think, but believe me when I say that your name is Erik".  
"You better go. I'll call someone if you don't".

And in that moment, the woman changed. Her entire skin stirred, from blue to a pale skin tone that ended up becoming James's. All of her, in fact, had become James, there, beside him in the bed.

"Are you going to listen to me now?".

Michael was petrified, wondering how that was possible. How could that be real. He had to be dreaming. Yes, it could only be a dream.... It was impossible.

"Erik". This time Michael didn't say anything about his name. He couldn't stop looking at him. James. Yes, it was James. "You're in danger. You have to listen to me".

But Michael couldn't pay attention to her. His eyes were fixed on the skin under which Raven had hidden. James. Since the party he had failed to remove him from his head. Even though he didn't remember too many things, he knew that he had been there the whole time, in his tireless brain. He wanted to kiss him, to tell him that nothing mattered, at least at that time. A sunbeam impacted on his back and made the image tremendously unreal. It was perfect.

"You and Charles. You both have to...". But Michael had cut the words with his lips. Raven opened her eyes, feeling his head going back to a place in her mind she thought she would never have to visit again...

She was probably the only person in the house who had noticed it, which she thought it was illogical and absurd, but the fact was that Raven was completely and utterly aware that between Charles and Erik was something, something that went beyond friendship, something that made them have full conversationts only with a look in the middle of a room full of people, in a language understood only by two of them. Yes, Raven knew there was something special between them, and it was something she hated so much she couldn't even put it into words. She hated the fact that the only two people for she had ever felt something real were together: the man who naively thought that Raven had loved him like a brother all his life, and that other mysterious figure, who had settled down in the mansion and no one liked him, but the first person in her existence that told her that she was beautiful in her true skin, her nature blue, that skin that made her look like a monster for the rest of the people, and the first person, besides, that she had kissed. She loved Charles deeply, and she had a huge debt to him until the day she died, but, even so, she couldn't let that relationship exist, even if it made Charles happy. Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr were destined to hate each other, to be on opposite sides, and that was the true chronicle of a death foretold.

And if it wasn't like that, Raven would make it happen.

That was the reason why she had adopted Charles' form, because she knew that it would be Erik's weakness. She knew that, somehow, he would listen to her that way, but she wasn't expecting, not even in her strangest dreams, that his answer would be... _that_.

"Erik...".  
"Shut up. Seriously, don't say anything". He kissed her again, avidly, like he had just been waiting for doing that and Raven was there just to make his dreams come true. She, incredulous, realized that she couldn't do anything but to correspond him, because she had never stopped loving that man... but she felt awful automatically.  
"Erik". She put her hands upon Michael's shoulders, who seemed to have lost his self-control. "Listen to me, seriously. I'm not... _James_ ". It was extremely weird for her to call Charles like that. Michael still just a few centimetres away from her, like he wasn't able to get away from her. She went back to her natural voice and body, and Michael finally came back to the real world, but just like if someone had thrown at him a glass of cold water. "I've got to go, but first you must listen to me, I repeat: you're both in danger, you and him. You will understand everything soo, but, for the moment, you have to be really careful". Raven looked at him for a long time, one look Michael couldn't interpret. "You don't look like... you. I hope that you can come back to us soon... _Magneto_ ".

And, with that, she disappeared, just like she hasn't been there.


	8. How wonderful life is now you're in the world.

They were still waiting for Michael. They had tried to call him like a thousand times, and he finally answered, from the hotel phone, just to say that he had fell asleep and that he would arrive as soon as he could, that he was terribly, truly, sorry, but he had had some personal issues, even though all the witnesses knew that his only big mistake had been drinking too much the previous night.

He arrived, with his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. He didn't say a word, he just walked in and he went right into the dressing room. James didn't need an explanation: he knew that something was wrong with Michael.

Excusing himself, he said that he had to go to talk to Michael, promising that they both would be back soon. Michael had left the sunglasses on the table and was sitting down, his hands behind the back of his head, breathing heavily, just like he had just suffered a huge shock.

"Are you okay?". James sat beside him, putting one of his hands on one of Michael's legs, making a circular motion.  
"Yes, it's nothing, it's just that I'm a bit tired and...".  
"Something's wrong". Michael looked up only to stumble with the blue and impassive irises of James.  
"It's just... I think I've had a hallucination".

He stared at James, waiting for his reaction. He really didn't know what to expect as a response, but even if he had thought of a possible answer, surely it wasn't close to the reality, to the pallor that had flooded the face of James, as if the hallucination of Michael was a ghost who had appeared just there.

"Are you okay?", asked Michael this time.  
"What kind of hallucination?".  
"What?".  
"I'm asking you what kind of hallucination have you had".  
"Well... do you really want to know?".  
"Yes, tell me".  
"Well... well... you see... This morning, when I woke up, I had someone with me in bed. Well, that someone was supposedly... Mystique".  
"What did she say?". Michael could notice how James's interest had grown. What could he know about what had happened that morning?  
"She... she called me Erik, and she also told me that you and... I believe that you, yes, you and I, that you and I were in danger, and that soon we would understand everything". He decided to skip the part where Raven turned into James and he tried to make love to her. But James didn't seem to be worried about whether he was hiding something or not. He had taken a note from his pocket and he was staring at it, as if he had found the answer to something. Without another word, he extended it to Michael, showing him the note that James had found a few days ago at his home, the one that told him not to be afraid, that soon he would understand everything, just like the words Raven had spoken to Michael.  
"What do you think is happening? I've been... I dunno, I think they are visions, just that sometimes it's as if I was living another life, I just don't understand. At first I thought I was going crazy, but now this happened to you and...".  
"Why didn't you tell me?".  
"I told you, I thought I was losing my mind. I mean, what's the point of all this? Do you think it's real?". He stared at him, with a sad smile on his face.  
"What else am I going to believe? Right now we can no longer deny anything".

James hugged him, saying nothing, catching Michael unprepared. He returned the hug, while supporting his head on the shoulder of James, thinking about how odd it was that this seemed to be made specifically for him to rest there, and how his arms around his waist fit so well. He was thinking about all the things he'd like to do to him, again, only that this time he was in front of him.

James, really, the one and only.

"James". The Scot answered breaking the embrace and looking at him penetratingly. "The other day I behaved like an asshole. I want you to forgive me".  
"You didn't do anything wrong, Michael. You have nothing to apologize for. I understand you. I must say: yes, I understand, you're right. I hope at least we can still be friends". There was sadness in his voice, and this time his eyes fled, as if he was about to mourn but he was forcing himself not to do it.  
"No, James, we can't. I... I love you. I can't fulfill my own words, sorry".

And with this, he kissed him, kissed him as he had been dying to do since James sat beside him and touched his leg. He was glad to be responded with an eagerness that was impossible to describe. Tongue, mouth, teeth and saliva. They were entangled in each other and wishing to...

"Guys...". Since they had been so long in the dressing room, Jennifer had offered herself to see what was happening, just to see them in that moment. Putting her hands to her mouth, stifling a genuine smile of happiness, she closed the door again, although it had been too late: James and Michael had separated from each other, and James's cheeks were in a shade of red that led Michael to wonder if a such a colour could be naturally in the face of a human being.  
"Hey, don't worry, she already knows everything, and she's not telling anything to anyone", smiled Michael. He wasn't sure if that sentence pretended to be a comfort, but he trusted Jennifer enough not to be worried., and he wanted James to do the same.  
"What does she know? What, exactly?".  
"That I love you".

Both of them were paralyzed. Michael couldn't believe what he had just said out loud, and James was trying to believe what he had just listened from Michael. Would he still answering if he called him Michael, or should he try with Erik, just to be sure he wasn't dreaming?

"Me too. I love you too, Michael".

Michael could swear that, never, in his entire life, he had never felt that well. They kissed, once again, untill they felt that the oxygen was leaving their lungs. Once this was done, they left the room, once Michael changed his clothes, finally.

It was in the exact moment they crossed the door, that they both realize, curiously, how different the entire world looked then.

**

The last day of the shooting concluded peacefully, everybody happy and relaxed knowing that their work would become less demanding from that point on, since they would only have to travel around the world presenting what they had been doing all those past months, and there was some time left for that to began.

That night, Michael had reached the hotel feeling like a whole new person. He was sitting in bed, savoring the feeling, when someone knocked on the door, turning out to be James. He had cut his hair and he had shaved his beard, finally, making him look younger and more... him, and had a mischievous smile on his face. Without waiting for Michael to tell him anything, he entered the room, closing the door behind him.

"Sorry, I should have called you, but... I couldn't wait".  
"Don't...". But James didn't let him finish the sentence. He pushed him against the wall and started to kiss him, biting him sometimes. His hands slid quickly to Michael's shirt, and after putting his hands underneath it, stroking him, he took it off quickly. Only their breathing could be heard crashing along with the sound of their kisses. Michael never try to talk again; it seemed totally unnecessary.

Before any of them could realize, both were in bed, naked, James on the top of Michael, biting his neck, while Michael tangled his fingers in his hair, giving him little jerks. Damn, it felt like Paradise. James had begun to lowering his left hand dangerously, until he landed in the crotch of Michael, getting a gasp of surprise from him as a response, but it soon became one of pleasure when James started playing with his cock, touching it slowly, feeling it hard against his touch, while Michael was dying of pleasure.

"James...". The pure sound of his name coming from his lips made him lose his head. He really had no idea of all the time that his subconscious had been wanting to do that. He had no idea, but he was starting to get one. Their foreheads were united, and he crossed him with his eyes. How could he have such an obsession with him? He still there, increasing the speed of his hand upon Michael's penis, feeling his breath on his lips every time he left a groan come out of his mouth, one that he had tried to drown. 

Michael was perfect.

He took his hand off and kissed his lips again. He handled the situation, and he realized that it was time to do what had actually brought him there.

"Be careful". Michael was aware of what he intended to do, and some concern was reflected in his eyes. James gave him another kiss, sweet and soft.  
"Don't worry, I will. I won't hurt you".

It felt like that time he had entered Erik's mind. It was the feeling of doing something he had done before, but it was oddly the first time, and so felt like that too. And this idea was in his head as he introduced a finger in Michael, but soon faded when he began to penetrate him. Actually, everything, anything that he had ever had in his head, disappeared. Only Michael and he were there, making love in a hotel bed. Michael, who was his best friend, the man who was now moaning with pleasure every time he lunged, taking care, knowing it was the first time someone did that to him.

"Hmm... James...".

He wanted Michael to say his name forever. It made him lose his mind. He could feel that he was about to cum, which was frustrating because he didn't want it to end, never, but he couldn't help it: his excitement began to rub limits that he didn't even know that existed. It was the first time he was having sex with a man, and he realized that something had been very wrong throughout his life; or perhaps it was not for the fact of being a man, but simply it was different because he was Michael.

He came inside Michael. It hadn't taken him too long, but he came. Michael let out a scream mingled with a pleasure he had never experienced before, and he looked at James as if he was doing it for the first time. Without leaving within him, James began to masturbate Michael, although it wasn't necessary too much for Michael to come too, in James's hand this time.

The two of them were exhausted. It was brief, but intense, probably more intense than anything they had ever done. James curled up on Michael's chest, and he wasn't able to keep his eyes open not even one more second. He felt Michael kissing his forehead, but it was the last thing he was conscious of: Morfeo came too soon.


	9. Please don't drive me blind.

James and Michael had now the extra happiness of something that only the both of them could understand, a relationship based on meetings in bed at three in the morning and soft touches no one but them would ever know. But it couldn't always be happiness, sweet, warm and nice; that kind of things just happen on the movies: James, and maybe Michael too, he couldn't tell, he still worried about everything he had been seeing, experiencing, in the previous weeks, things that kept multiplying and growing, reaching the point that, sometimes, he wasn't aware of what had happened in entire hours of his own life, of that life he considered as the real one, the one he had lived since he was born. He felt as if he was losing himself in something bigger than himself, and he was terrified. That note had told him that he didn't have to be afraid, but what was a piece of paper to tell him what to feel? How could he not be afraid of something that was happening to him and devoid of any logic and understanding? He had Michael, and he felt as he had conquered the whole world with that, but that issue clouded his happiness and deprived him of sleep. And Michael, of course, noticed it, but he was aware, too, that there was nothing he could do.

That night, Erik and Charles discussed. This time, he, James, he was just seeing everything from outside, as if he wasn't there. He didn't understand for sure what they were saying, but he could see that Erik didn't want to go on, that he didn't want to be in a relationship in which he had to hide and not tell anyone what he was feeling. He wasn't willing to give everything he had, even his strongest beliefs, in exchange for a secret where he was a tiny part. He was calling Charles selfish, along with another group of words in German that he couldn't understand, and Charles tried to reassure him, like a father trying to console his son after waking from a nightmare.

"Is this not important to you?! Does it not hurt you?!".  
"Erik".  
"Are you trying to be the rest of your life pretending?".  
"Erik!".  
"You're killing me!".  
"ERIK!".

It was the first time that Charles Xavier really raised his voice. He was sitting, this time in his wheelchair, something that indicated that he hadn't consumed his dose of Hank's serum, and he was breathing deeply, as if he was trying to control himself. He raised his head, and Erik could see that his eyes were full of tears.

"Why do you have to make this harder? Aren't we fine? Don't you love me? Don't I love you? What do you want from me, Erik? I've given you everything I have and even so you're not happy".  
"I just want...". He looked at him, like if that was costing him an entire Universe. "I just want to be with you without having to lie to the rest of the world, without having to pretend that you're not more than a friend to me. That it's what I want".  
"Don't you realize that it just complicates things?".  
"Are you afraid, Charles?".  
"Afraid?".  
"Is that you don't want the world to know that you sleep with another man? Is that Charles?".  
"You know it's not that. Please, Erik, be reasonable".  
"You're ashamed of me, that's all".  
"Erik, no. You know not. Stop saying that, please".  
"I love you, Charles". This time he was the one who had tears in his eyes, tears of anger and sadness that were rolling from the seas that he had as irises to his cheeks, unstoppable. "I love you, and sometimes I think I'm unrequited, I think I'm living a lie and I think I'll explode".  
"Erik, I...".  
"I'm going to leave, Charles. I'm going to leave and you won't stop me".  
"Don't do it, Erik, please...".  
"If you don't care enough about me to say it out loud in front of the rest of the world, I think there's something bigger out there for me. I was about to abandon everything I believe in just because of you, do you realize? And I'm only asking you for something that couldn't really hurt you".  
"There are things you don't understand, Erik. Is it not enough for you that I can't love anyone else in the world?".  
"No, it's not. Not at all, Charles".

At that time, Erik went to the door while clenched his fists with all the force of which he was capable of, digging his nails into the palms making them bleed. Charles didn't try to stop him, he knew he couldn't. In his eyes there was the deepest sorrow of the world, something that it was impossible to describe.

"Erik".

He called him, making him stop his movement, but he didn't turn back; Charles could only see that back where he had so often slipped his fingers in a passionate caress, that he had scratched those nights of wild sex, Erik's back, the only person for whom he would stop the world. Erik was there, standing, waiting for Charles to say something that he didn't really know what it was.

"Goodbye, Charles".  
"I love you, Erik. If you go, I don't think you won't be able to come back".  
"So I guess this is a farewell. You'll have news about me soon, Charles. I promise".

Interestingly, that wasn't meant to be something good, and although Charles understood, he couldn't think of it as a real thing. At that time, all he knew for sure is that the whole world was falling on him once again, like that time when everyone left him, after that fateful day in Cuba. He saw Erik's back out the door, and he felt as the unhappiest man on the planet.

Erik.

What would he do without Erik?

James woke up, almost gasping, sharing the pain of Charles, feeling it as if it was his own. He sat on the bed, with almost the irrepressible urge to scream and mourn in pain. Those dreams were sinking him deeper into misery.

"James?". He felt lips kissing his shoulder, and soon he felt two arms hugging him. Michael was there, a sign that everything was fine, but it really wasn't. "What happened?".  
"It was a... nightmare. That's it. Nothing but a nightmare".  
"I'm worried about you". Although James couldn't see him, Michael had drawn a gesture of pure concern on his face. "I fear that one day something will happen to you because of those dreams and I won't be able to do anything about it".  
"Nothing's gonna happen to me, don't worry". He looked for Michael's face. "They will end soon, I know. It's only a matter of time".  
"But how can you know!".  
"Trust me, Michael. For real".

Michael replied him with a kiss.

"James, I couldn't live without you".  
"So do I". He stared at him for too long, as if he was thinking too much in what he was about to say. "Hey".  
"What?".  
"Would you leave me if I decide that it's not a good idea to let the world know that we are... Well... Together?".

Michael pulled away from him slightly, looking at him strangely.

"What is that question?".  
"You just answer".  
"I think not". In spite of that "I thnik", there was security on his statement. "I mean... Now that I've realized that nothing matters more to me than being with you, I wish I could go public, telling everyone that I love you more than my own life, but I understand that you wouldn't be comfortable with it, or at least, you would be worried about what others think. I guess things would be different if we weren't actors".

James smiled at him with gratitude drawn in his eyes. After what he had dreamed, nothing felt better than Michael's words. The reason? At one point, among all those dreams, James had begun to identify himself with Charles, and Erik with Michael. James had felt what Charles felt, and he had suffered what Charles suffered, and although Erik was too different from Michael to be the same person - at least psychologically, because that man named Erik Lehnsherr was probably the most twisted and temperamental creature on the planet - James saw something, a kind of link between them. As strange as true.

"Does that question has something to do with your sleep?".  
"In a way, yes". The ability of Michael to read his thoughts was already something normal to him at that time; he did it many times a day, that's why it was no longer a surprise when he finished his sentences.  
"In a way?", asked Michael, but James interrupted the conversation giving him a long and intense kiss. "The only nightmares that I have are the dreams in which you aren't with me". Michael whispered in James's ear, soft, the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him. That asshole knew how to be romantic.

Michael sat, and James stood over him astride, putting his arms around his neck. Thus they were, front to front, leaning into each other, staring at each other. Less than a week, and now there was a whole universe betweet them. They didn't need talk to understand what the other was thinking, something too beautiful to be true, but, incredibly, it was as true as that after life comes death.

_How is it possible? How can I love you this much? Just a week ago I didn't even realized that I needed you..._

James looked at him with a smile that vanished when he realized what had just happened.

How was it possible? It couldn't be.

And even though he was living one of those moments you wish you live forever, James fainted.

**

"James?". He had awakened, but the situation hadn't improved: James was pale, a cold sweat hogging the entire surface of his skin. Michael took his face in his hands, forcing James to look at him. "James, what happened?".

He seemed to react as if Michael's voice was a beacon in the night, but he still had the fear reflected in his whole person.

"Michael... I think I've just read your mind".


	10. Come back, come back to me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes, please!  
> Thanks in advance for your time C:

"What?". Michael Fassbender couldn't help himself, but he was looking at James as if he had lost his mind completely.  
"Yes... I felt that you were talking to me, but you weren't saying anything. I have read it in your head. As if you were talking to me, but it was really just what you were thinking. I had felt something once, but it had only been in... well, one of those visions".  
"That's impossible, James".  
"As impossible as Mystique coming to visit you?". Michael averted his eyes from James, realizing that questioning what he had said was just like questioning what he had experienced that morning in his room.  
"Sorry, you have to understand, but a lot is happening at the moment and...".  
"Let me try again".  
"What?".  
"Let me try to enter your mind again. If I did it once unwittingly, I can do it again, this time intentionally, right?". There was some excitement in his words.  
"I guess...". Michael didn't seem to be convinced, and he didn't know if it was because he didn't think he could get it or because he wasn't too comfortable with the fact that it was James entering his mind.  
"Do you trust me?".  
"Yes. Of course".  
"Are you hiding something from me?".

Michael thought about what he hadn't told him about the visit of Raven, but he considered it irrelevant, at least as regards trust.

"No. Not consciously at least".  
"Okay, then we don't lose anything with a try, right?".  
"I don't think so", Michael smiled, nervously.

And if it worked?

James sat on the bed, at a safe distance from Michael. How could he do it? He wanted to try, but he wasn't clear about where he should start. He closed his eyes, and he put his fingertips in his temples, imitating his own version of Charles Xavier, trying to concentrate, focus, whatever it was, waiting for something to happen. Michael looked at him, among curiosity and concern, wondering if it was a real feeling or James was getting to involved into the matter. A heavy silence reigned in the room, and they didn't even hear noise from the other rooms of the hotel. It was as if they were in their own dimension, Michael and James, where no one could access.

_James._

It was happening. It was Michael's voice. He clutched to that, trying to go further, to do more than listen to his voice, if the concept _hear_ was accurate, because it was just and echo in his head, not a sound coming through his ears.

_James. James, that's enough. James._

As he was getting closer, the sound was amplified. James knew he was doing well, and he wouldn't stop, even though the silent prayers of Michael. He began to see pictures, images from the head of his companion. They came in bursts, at full speed, an explosion of lights and colours that seemed to last forever, happening so fast he couldn't see anything clear...

They stopped, suddenly, as if someone was watching a video and he paused it without any warning. Everything turned black, but he knew that he hadn't move, that he still there, somewhere in Michael's mind, a place that probably no one had ever seen, either from inside or from outside, not even Michael himself. Maybe it was a place where he shouldn't be, but once he was there, he wasn't thinking of leaving. Whatever it took.

_James._

It had sounded closer than ever, much less soft and sweet than he remembered, as if Michael was talking to another James, a James who he didn't seemed to appreciate too much.

_James. Stop, Please. Stop it. Jame... Charles._

He still inside Michael's head, but he was in a place he didn't know.

A white room with no windows, an eerily unreal place. In the center there was a table, white too, and Michael was sitting in a chair in front of it in an ivory dress that resembled a prison uniform. James, sitting in a chair at the table too, was facing him.

"Charles". It was that voice tone, cold and hostile, broken. "Charles, my old friend".

Erik.

It was Erik, there wasn't any doubt about it. But wasn't he in Michael's head? Wasn't that the deepest of his mind? James had an enourmous feeling of confusion in the middle of his chest and reflected on his face, while he was wondering if it was possible that he could have visions while browsing through the mind of Michael.

"It's time to wake up".  
"W-w-wake up?".

Erik took one of his hands in his. James realized that he had a pair of handcuffs around his pulses, as if he really was an inmate, only that those were unlike ordinary handcuffs: they were white, instead of the typical metallic colour. He thought that it was the first time he saw Erik Lehnsherr doing something sweet under all that innate hatred for everything and everyone.

"You have to remember. You need to remember everything. You must bring us both back, you and me, before it's too late". He was still holding his hand in his, cold, and brought it to his face, as if he was needed of a warmth that his body didn't possess, as if he needed that touch almost as much as breathing.  
"I don't understand... Remember? Bring us back, from where? What...?".  
"Listen. You're not dreaming". He had interrupted him, and he was looking at James through those eyes of the color of steel, slightly damp even though he was trying to hide it. "Your name is Charles Francis Xavier, not James McAvoy. That person you think you love doesn't exist, like all the life that you think you've always gotten. It is difficult to explain it without losing too much time, but you have to know that someone wanted to make something really bad to us and this is why he made us even forget about who we really are, in order to be easier to manipulate. You have to believe me. And above all, you have to try to remember".

James was even more confused than in all the previous weeks, and that was too much considering everything that had happened to him.

"Are you trying to tell me that my _WHOLE_ life is a lie?", he said, almost like a cry that came out involuntarily.  
"At least that one you think you've had, yes". Erik looked at him as if he pitied him, as if he could share how he felt. "You have been brainwashed in order to make you believe a pack of lies that have been implanted in your head. Your past is still there". He touched one of his temples with one of his fingers. "You just have to try and return it to the surface. If you could find me, you have to try to look inside your own head. I'm Michael's past; well, technically he's just me but without my memories. You have to believe me. You know I'm not lying".  
"What can I do?". He felt an intense pain in the head, as if it was about to explode.  
"I don't know. You've always been the one in charge when it came to such matters. What ever. We can't be safe for too long. It's imperative to find a solution. Believe me". Erik leaned forward until this time his hands could touch James's face. That hostility in his eyes had almost completely disappeared, and James realized it was the first time he felt Erik as a completely real person, like the first time he was face to face with someone who he had just seen in countless photographs "I'm sorry. For everything, and many other things that now you can't understand. I'm really sorry. You have to know that I never stopped loving you, and you've never stopped being the most important person in my life. That day I wasn't thinking too clearly". Suddenly he lowered his voice, as if he didn't want to say what he was about to let out of his lips. "Fuck the mutant cause. Do you want me to be docile, to try to live among the dross as if I were one of them? Okay, you win. I love you too much not to do it". He looked right into James's irises, with those eyes so cold that, for once, showed some warmth. James realized that no one had professed such love to him even though he hadn't done absolutely nothing to earn it and he felt bad because he was sure that he wasn't the person Erik was adressing all those things. On the other hand, he was so different from Michael... He was thinking about what to say, in anything that wasn't too hurtful but not a big lie, when Erik leaned forward again and kissed his lips, while taking his face with his handcuffed hands.

The pain continued to expand through his head, but, strangely, James felt too good to separate himself from that, he felt too good inside that kiss that he had to correspond it. He realized that the man who was in front of him wasn't Michael at all, even in the way he kissed, and somehow he felt for a moment that he was betraying him, but also he didn't know what to do: technically that was the true version of the person from whom he doted, and that feeling of coming home after a long time of being lost had installed in his chest at the moment he had appeared in that room. That cold, hard and twisted man had a heart after all, and apparently he was the only person in the world who had actually seen it, although it was not yet able to remember a single second of his past.

"Charles". Erik had just separated himself from him, talking close to his lips. "Come back to me. Soon. Please...".

But Erik couldn't even finish his sentence. There he was again, in Michael's room, sitting on the edge of the bed, dizzy, with tears that fell silently and inevitably, and he didn't realize he was crying until they clouded his vision. He also noticed that his nose was bleeding profusely.

"Hey, are you okay?". Michael had been standing on his feet, and now he was crouched in front of him, lifting his head to look at him while he wiped the blood from his nose with a handkerchief.  
"I think so. It was... indescribable".  
"You have entered my mind. I have _felt_ it. I can't say _what_ I've noticed. It was strange, very strange". James smiled at that, but it was a sad smile. Michael looked at him, waiting for him to speak, to tell him something like that he had seen too many women he had slept with, or something like that.  
"Michael, you see... I think I've reached a part of yourself that neither you know".  
"What do you mean?". Michael sat beside him, looking at him as if James was about to tell him all the mysteries of the universe.  
"Erik. I mean Erik Lehnsherr".

Michael raised an eyebrow, asking, without saying anything, what he meant by that. James proceeded to tell him everything, leaving nothing behind - except the kiss, which, and like Michael had done with Raven's visit, didn't seem worthy to be mentioned because he neither considered it a serious attack of mutual trust, because if all of that was true, someday he would remember that his name used to be Erik and that he used to hate everyone, at least everyone that wasn't Charles Xavier -, obtaining as an answer a silence that seemed to go on _ad infinitum_. Michael simply didn't know what to say.

"When you think that nothing in this world can surprise you, this happens". He was staring at some point lost in the carpet of the room. He had talked after that infinite silence in which both were drowning, thinking without thinking at all.  
"I don't know what to do".  
"Well, at least now we have some information, despite not knowing what to do with it. Is it now time to call a witch?", said Michael, ironically.  
"I've been thinking about something". James had ignored Michael's comment, engrossed in his own thoughts. "If I could get into your mind, that means that at least I have the power of telepathy, although not remember anything about my past. Is it possible that you also have your powers?".

James and Michael stared at each other for a couple of seconds. Suddenly, and at the same time, they both smiled.

Maybe that afternoon, after all, had just started to be entertaining.


	11. There's only one heart in this body, have mercy on me.

One centimetre, two, three.

The ashtray was moving.  
Slowly, but it was moving.

Michael was sitting on an armchair, still in his hotel room, concentrated, trying to increase the speed of the movement, but until then he had only done that. James was right: they didn't have their memories, but they did have their powers, an irrefutable proof that everything was real.

His mind was slightly overwhelmed. He thought of all that had happened.

How was it possible that he was Erik Lehnsherr?

Of all the things that had been happening, that was, undoubtedly, the most unbelievable for him: he had nothing in common with Magneto. Absolutely nothing. Even James had more in common with Charles Xavier, and James could walk without the aid of any drugs and they didn't even share an accent. But it was true, now he knew: he could no longer deny it, at least not when, as he was undressing himself to take a shower, he discovered in his arm something that wasn't there before, that had appeared on his skin as some kind of spell; the numbers 214782, those that marked him as Max Eisenhardt, or what is the same, Erik Lehnsherr before changing his name permanently. Despite everything that had been happening, it wasn't until he saw that written indelibly in his arm, although it was a little bit faded, that he realized the reality of the situation, which caused him the weirdest mixture of feelings he had ever had.

He sighed.

James was laying on the sofa, dressed only with a pair of blue jeans, looking at the ceiling without even blinking, as if he had forgotten to do it, concentrated on something that, for once, Michael didn't know. He contemplated him, trying not to be discovered by James, keeping the movement of the metalic ashtray throught the table. Angels probably looked like him, with those abysmal and sincere blue eyes and that perfect anatomy. The more he got lost in James, the faster was the movement of the ashtray, but Michael didn't care at all about it, not anymore: he wanted to make love to James, and then, in that same place, get drunk just with him, his fragance and his soft skin, grab him and not let him go anymore. The ashtray fell on the floor, over the thick cushioned carpet, and at that moment, unlike Michael, James reacted.

"Wow, you made it", he smiled at him, while incorporating himself until he was sitting on the couch. He looked like he'd been miles away; it probably was true. Since he had entered inside Michael's mind, he had been really self-enclosed and quiet, for first time in... probably his entire life.  
"It looks that way". Michael replied, but he didn't even look at the ashtray. Why he had this uncontrollable desire, all of a sudden?

He sat on the couch next to James, taking him by the chin and giving him a slow kiss; James just allowed him to do it, not moving, just closing his eyes. Never separating him from his lips, Michael pushed him gently to lay again, placing himself above James. He bit his neck and felt James let out a little moan of satisfaction, as if he had been thinking the exact same thing.

And suddenly, just like that, suddenly and untimely, that was the first time Michael had a real memory from his past life.

_His eyes were closed, still refusing to wake up._

_The light was coming through the windows, through the white curtains of Charles Xavier's mansion, but he was trying to stay there as much as he could, pretending to sleep with his head attached to Charles' shoulder, flooding in his smell, the best in the world, that one he could only associate with all the good things in his life. They were both lying, covered only by a sheet, and Erik was trying to encompass his life to the rhythm of the paced breathing of Charles, who was awake but didn't move from his place beside him. For once, Erik wasn't drowning in all the suffering he had endured throughout his life. It was quiet, he was at peace. That was fine. For once, yes._

_Charles._

_How he loved Charles._

_He knew that nothing would ever be the same since the moment he met him that night in which, at least for a moment, he believed he was invincible, able to kill Sebastian Shaw on his own, without more help than his mutant powers. He was superior to humans, he knew, but he was mortal after all, vulnerable to those who had more power than him, and he nearly died in his own arrogance and anger. Charles had saved his life, though it was hard for him to admit it, and yes, he knew he would love him from that moment on, yet even without knowing that he would feel attracted to someone of the same sex as his._

_He opened his eyes. Charles was still next to him, but holding a book in his hands, reading._

_"Good morning", he said, as he approached Charles' face, who was surprised by his voice and touch, and kissed his cheek gently. "What are you reading?".  
_ "A Midsummer Night's Dream _by William Shakespeare". Erik was at the height of his cheek, brushing it against the tip of the nose, still refusing to wake up at all, with his eyes closed again, as if he was in Heaven itself. "_ Two lovely berries moulded on one stem, so with two seeming bodies, but one heart". _Charles read that sentence out loud, without knowing exactly why, but he knew he could never have said anything better in a moment like that. Erik was fascinated by the way he spoke with that accent of his that seemed already made to read Shakespeare. He closed the book, and lied against Erik's chest, who surrounded him with one arm. They were both silent, their rhythmic breaths, Charles making small circles with his thumb on Erik's skin, maintaining that contact to make sure it was real._

_They had made love for the first time two days ago, and the world, inexplicably, had begun to move from that time on._

"Michael! Michael!".

He opened his eyes.

He was lying on the couch, where minutes earlier he had been with James, who was now at his side, with concern written on his face.

"What happened?". Michael tried to sit up, but realized that he was terribly dizzy, so he returned to the position in which he had awakened, while everything was still moving around him and his head seemed to be about to explode.  
"You fainted".  
"Fainted? I... I...". He wanted to talk, but he was choking on his own words. James grabbed him by the shoulders, gently.  
"Hey. Breathe. Calm down, nothing happens". He kissed him on the forehead and hugged him as if he were a small child. "Believe me, I understand. It has happened to me more times than I can already tell. Just breathe, and try to calm down. Everything's okay". He stood there, nothing more, just holding Michael in his arms until the choking sensation disappeared, until he knew he was not dying.  
"James. James, I remembered something". He stared at James with doubt in his face, not knowing how to react to such a confession, but automatically he started laughing like a maniac. He didn't know why, because, at the end of the day, he still didn't know whether to consider his past as something good, but the fact that something had happened at last was better than uncertainty, and it filled him with an inexpressible happiness.  
"What have you seen?".  
"Us". It felt weird saying that, but it was true: they were, yes, and there was nothing to doubt about it. A faint smile appeared on his lips, realizing that it was probably the warmest worldview ever, and God, how he wished it never ended. James leaned his head on Michael's shoulder, understanding without words. They stayed there, both silent, strangely comfortable, each thinking of something else: Michael, who was still embedded by his sleep; James, who was thinking how much he dreaded the idea, once the initial incongruous joy, of losing Michael to have Erik Lehnsherr beside him.


	12. Don't leave me here, my guiding light.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College leaves me with zero time to translate the fic, so I would like to apologize for the wait!  
> As always, I just hope you enjoy it and if you can, please, just let me know the mistakes because English is not my first language and I'm aware that my level is not as good as it should be, even though I try my very best. 
> 
> Cheers! ♥

The smoke was escaping from his lips, merging with the steam that was accumulated all over the room, coming from the hot water that was falling from the tap. There was Michael, his arms on both sides of the tub, his head thrown back and a cigarette between the fingers of his right hand, lost in his own thoughts. His brain was reflecting about the previous week, and how wonderful and depressing it had been, both things at the same time; monotony had returned to his life, also to James's, once again they both lost in signing contracts and agents they had to talk to, except that two things had happened now, two events that had changed everything.

First, the encounters between the two of them had multiplied: then, they met every night, preferably at James's, where they were the only two living beings in meters, and where there was that particular realm that they both had created, two separated heads but united in one mind, one that was in that silent universe where nobody lived. Michael was James's second skin, and James was the same for Michael. In their meetings time didn't pass, and everything was a game marked by unspoken rules. It could be said that they had a relationship, yes, and that it was definitely going through its best moment.

But there was something, that second unavoidable thing in Michael's head, that still changing everything, yes, but not in the good sense of things, unlike the first fact: he didn't know exactly why, or maybe yes, but since some days ago, and it was something he hadn't even discussed with James, Michael realized that any contact with another human being repelled him. He tried not to think about it, to avoid it, but he couldn't do it. It was a feeling that assailed him whenever he left the privacy of his hotel room, sometimes even when he was with James, which he knew it was absurd and made him really miserable: was that, the fact of being too... _human_ , what disgusted him that much. He hated the thought, and he also hated to admit it, but it was true: now that he had discovered what he could do, he knew that he could conquer the world if he wanted, and he felt that the rest of the people around him were only a bunch of useless creatures that only were occupying space. He even had thought that of James, by the mere fact that the discovering of what he could do had left him almost indifferent to his eyes, that power which made him an exceptional being, one among all the inhabitants of the Earth, and he hated that idea passing through his brain, as James McAvoy was his world now.

He opened his eyes, his blue irises meeting those two metal spheres circling at a considerable distance from his face, moved only by the power emanating from his mind. Magneto. He was Magneto, and he had begun to realize that the idea didn't frighten or worried him, yes, he even liked it. Why had he to be horrified by what he really was? He thought of James, and his face clouded for a moment, because he knew, yes, he knew that, deep down, James hated that Michael was Erik Lehnsherr, but soon he drew an involuntary smile on his face.

He hated that? He would make him like it.

Oh, yes.

Of course he would.

**

That day he felt euphoric. He had shown a genuine emphasis on everything, and had made love with Michael as ever, or so he thought as he penetrated him and yelled him that he would split him in half, moaning with a need that he had never experienced before. He had never felt that way, and the truth was that it was too good to worry about it.

That was what he was thinking about that morning, watching the streaks of light coming through the blinds and falling on Michael's face and torso, who was sleeping only covered by a sheet up to his waist, as a model of a Renaissance painting. He was rubbing his face with his fingertips, taking special care not to wake him up. He felt stupid thinking of it, but he knew that he would give his life for that man, that man who had looked at him with the maximum tenderness with which you can look at someone and told him he would never have nothing better in his life than his presence. He was staring at him and realizing that he was the luckiest person in the world when he felt that all the traces of explosive euphoria were gone. No sign of them: now there was only room for a new and indescribable feeling in his chest, something he had never felt before, but it wasn't good at all, as if he had used a drug that was pushing him, at that time, to collapse after an illusory happiness.

Suddenly, he felt that he couldn't breathe, and the room was getting smaller with every passing second, as he was the pray of an inexplicable attack of claustrophobia. He stood up, trying to be careful, not making a single sound because he didn't want to wake Michael, which was a complex task giving the circumstances, and went to the bathroom, where he stuck his head under an ice water jet. He looked in the mirror: he had never been so pale, his eyes bloodshot, his lips blue as if he were dying of cold. He coughed, and a trickle of blood came out of the corner of his mouth.

 _Am I dying?_ he thought, afraid, as a last thought, just before falling slumped over the tiled bathroom floor.

**

Michael woke up in the moment in which he felt the lack of James's warmth at his side. He opened his eyes slowly and without really wanting to do it, still with his face half buried in the pillow, thinking about how strange it was that James woke up before him and that he didn't even tarry in bed beside him, especially taking in count that, supposedly, that morning he had no occupation: James would have warned him even before he crossed the door of his house. He was really maniac for that.

He got up, and he was about to approach the bathroom door to call when he realized that this was only ajar, and no sound was coming from inside the room. He stopped his advance.

"James?". There was no answer, so he decided to get closer and open the door. Had James gone...? "James, what...?".

Then he saw him.

Lying on the floor, blood running from his mouth of purple lips, skin on a new shade of white, his breath even impossible to perceive at a glance: James looked like a corpse.

He gasped for air and his pulse quickened, feeling that something heavy was falling on his shoulders at that time, but before collapsing, he knew that there was no time to lose: he lifted James, using only his strength, and he carried him to bed, where he laid him with an infinite delicacy. Once there, he called emergency and asked for an ambulance, saying that it should come as soon as possible, because a life was at stake, the life of the most important person in the world. He wiped his blood and the very mild cold sweat that mosturized his skin. _James_. _What happened, James_.

The ambulance came and took him away, allowing Michael to accompany him. The scenes were flashing before his eyes as if it was a movie, as if he really wasn't there, even though his body was still standing there.

Someone had done something to James.

He knew it.

Someone would pay dearly for it.

A doctor came out and addressed him, making him return to the real world, his own physical body. He needed to know something, anything. He needed to know that James was okay.

"Michael Fassbender? They told me that you were the one who brought James McAvoy here, and although we don't usually give information to people who aren't part of the family of the patient, we will make an exception because of the situation".  
"How is he? What happened?". Despite of his new feelings for the whole humanity, in those moments everything that wasn't James was unimportant: that man would be useful for once.  
"You see... It's a complicated situation. We don't understand exactly what has happened. We will make a few tests, but there is no apparent reason for his state. Have you found him just like that?".  
" ... yes".  
"Was he alone? I mean, considering his state...".  
"What do you mean?".  
"Well, you see, it's hard to say this... But you know, disabled people usually need help, if you know what I mean".  
"Disabled?". Every passing second he was more and more confused. He was cold, even though the temperature of the hospital was really high, and he put his hands in his pockets, trying to warm them. "I don't follow you". His fingers found something in a pocket that it wasn't there before. "Disabled?", he repeated.

The doctor looked at him with surprise painted on his face. Michael wrapped his fist around the unknown object from his pocket and extracted it.

" ... the futility of his legs, Mr. Fassbender...".

It was a bullet.

An used bullet, which still had dried blood, which once had been in Cuba, impacting on Charles Xavier's spine.

Erik's bullet. Charles's bullet.

He wasn't listening to the doctor, not anymore. The images came to his memory like lightning. Charles in his arms. Blaming him. Tears in his eyes. The rage exploding. _Charles. It was Moira, Charles._

_I love you, Charles._

He clenched his fist, with the bullet still inside there, the cold metal against his palm. The doctor's voice came to him from miles away, asking him if he was okay. A tear had fallen from one of his eyes, the mark of the shame he felt.

He left the building, leaving that inept human in mid-sentence, looking at him like an unitelligent fish.

Charles.

He wouldn't lose Charles again.


	13. Something's seriously wrong with me.

He was far away from there for three days, unconscious, three days in which Michael barely left the room and his place beside the bed, where James was swimming in the darkness of his own mind, in which he had found nothing more than the memories of his own childhood and adolescence, the same memories Erik had labeled as pure fiction that never existed. If someone had created all those lies, he or she had done it very well. He thought of Scotland, of the cold, of his home and his family, of how gradually things got complicated; he thought of his first kiss, the first time he had sex and the first he made love to someone, the first time he went abroad for almost never going back home. All the good things and all the bad things.

Michael.

Where was Michael?

He would have stayed there forever, but he couldn't do it if that meant not being able to see Michael. He was everything and, at the same time, he was nothing more than a speck in his existence. He loved him, but he also knew that there was a part of his brain that hated him.

Did he hate him?

He opened his eyes.

The light of the hospital was annoying, but he was back there, dizzy, feeling no other part of his body but his arms. Everything still the same, yet something had changed. He couldn't tell what, but it did.

A nurse treated him with infinite care, smiling softly and, occasionally, whispering reassuring words.

_Nothing happens._

_Everything's okay._

Was she saying or thinking that? James didn't even know. His head was full of cotton and he needed Michael.

"Can you hear me?". The nurse looked at him attentive.  
"Aye... what happened?". He looked around, wondering how he had gotten there.  
"Don't worry, nothing has happened. Everything's fine. Relax. Rest", she continued with her infinite litany.  
"I want to see Michael". He felt like a fool saying inconsistencies, but he needed to say it out loud.  
"We'll call Michael". She put her hand on his forehead, making him feel her cool palm against his hot, feverish forehead. "Now just rest".

The nurse left the room, but not before changing the dropper fixed on the inside of his arm, a dropper ended in a needle, entering an unknown substance in his bloodstream. He still dizzy and weak, but he was starting to become aware of the real world, after all.

He sat on the bed, helping himself only with the strength of his arms, although at that time it wasn't much, but at least it was something more than his useless legs, that still without reacting. He refused to think of something that had been prodding his brain since he had woken up. He just hoped that they would come back to normality very soon, just like everything else.

Secretly, he had never lost the faith. It doesn't matter how many evidence he had before his eyes, he couldn't be Charles Xavier, like Michael couldn't be Erik Lehnsherr. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life knowing what people thought, much less confined to a wheelchair. James wanted to remain being himself, the same Scottish happy man, working on what he was really passionate about, in love - and loved in return -. He was that person, and he didn't want to change.

The door opened, and Michael joined with that brown leather jacket he was always wearing. He said nothing, just came, took his face in his hands as if he was the most fragile creature in the world and kissed him, slowly, gently, for an eternity, with the need of someone who drinks water after days wandering through the wilderness.

"You scared the hell out of me". He kept his hands caressing his face, leaning his forehead on his. "Don't you ever do this to me again. Swear it".  
"If you are going to welcome me like this always, I can't promise it", smiled James, feeling unarmed, once more, because of that particular man that was still thinking, without saying it out loud, that the guilty of James's state was a third person who wanted to hurt him, something that James didn't know, because he had sworn not to enter his mind unless Michael permited it, and that kind of conversation had never resurfaced between them.  
"I love you. I love you so much".

It was Erik's repentance.

It was a dog's repentance after having bitten the hand that feeds him. It was as if he was trying to expel all the _I love you_ that he hadn't said before in just one sentence. James noticed that, and he looked at Michael puzzled, while he couldn't help but suppress a slight shiver.

"Michael".  
"What".  
"Have you remembered... anything?".  
"Yeah". He turned away a little from him, still close, blue eyes against blue eyes. The sky against the sea. "And you? Have you remembered something?".  
"I think I'm still the same. Nothing has changed. I haven't remembered anything new". _Everything has changed. Everything is different. He is not Michael. Not your Michael, anyway._

He tried to silence his brain, but was unable to do it. The voices returned, those that he couldn't control, the pounding suicide awareness that had appeared at some point in his life, since all that madness had begun.

Michael's face had darkened as if the answer didn't like him, but soon he smiled again like if it wasn't important.

"Michael". He answered quietly just looking at James, even though he was starting to reach a point where he didn't like to answer to that name; it wasn't his real name. "You have to promise me you'll be careful, and don't let that", he touched one of his temples with the fingertips, "drag you, do you understand me?".  
"You don't have to worry about me, James. I know what I'm doing. And I control myself. The concern now is you". He frowned, and he stroked his face once more.  
"It was nothing...".  
"James. You've been unconscious for three fucking days! Don't say that it was nothing! Nobody knew if you would wake up!". He said all that screaming unconsciously, and that was when he collapsed, burying his face in his hands and letting the tears run through his face as if someone had just opened a faucet. James could only think that he had never seen Michael like that, and he didn't know how to answer that. "I've been three days without you, three days! And it was a fucking hell".  
"Michael...". He raised his head. James wiped the tears from his face, staring into his eyes all the time. "I love you. I love you. You have no idea of how much I love you. But there's nothing we can do. No matter how angry you get, things won't change. I am aware that this has to do with everything that's been happening to us, but I doubt it is anyone's fault".  
"You can't say that. You don't know".  
"And neither do you. So you don't have nothing to attack".

Michael stared at him, realizing, not without regret, that he was right. He breathed deeply, trying to calm down, when he remembered that he had another matter to talk about with James, something important that meant bad news.

"James. I have something to tell you".  
"What?".  
"You see... The doctors have given me bad news".

He didn't have to say anything, James knew. James knew he'd say that his legs were completely useless at that time, and that it would be for the rest of his life. Hearing that from Michael's lips just did it more real, more painful. It was hard to think about it. But what was worse, was that there was nothing he could do about it.

"I'm so sorry...". Michael had the pain in his eyes, a shared pain that disarmed James again, even though the situation.

They stayed there, as it was almost a custom between the two of them, in silence, thinking about everything that was happening within their particular worlds and within that universe shared by them.

**

He was discharged a few days after waking up. Never in his life he had lived such a miserable experience as leaving a hospital in a wheelchair, even if it was Michael who was pushing it.

He was in a dream from which he wanted to wake up.

The first night at home he hadn't been able to sleep. He only had nightmares he couldn't remember upon awakening, but that left him sweaty and with wet eyes, wishing to sleep no more. He was hearing voices, voices without an owner who were constantly torturing him, and he didn't know what was like to have a life anymore. It hurted.

It hurted feeling like Charles Xavier.

The next day Michael left him home alone, much to his dismay. James was sitting in bed with a glass of whiskey on the night table, trying to read a book in which he wasn't able to concentrate in. His torture was increasing, and he didn't know what to do.

"Charles".

That voice sounded so close and so real that he knew that it hadn't sounded inside his head. He felt that mind, but he knew he didn't know her owner: it wasn't clear if the woman was hostile or allied.

"Who are you?".  
"I thought I would never have to hear that question coming from you, brother".

Mystique entered the room, addressing him. That woman with blue skin he didn't believe she was real when Michael told him about her. There she was.

"Raven".  
"Oh, you don't remember me but you still calling me Raven". He could feel the sarcasm in her voice, but also some kind of sadness. "How do you feel, Charles?". She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him with her impossible irises.  
"The truth is that not very well. Some things have been happening to me and...".  
"I know, and we can't talk about it now, later you will understand everything. I came here just to give you something that will be helpful to you, but I must go as soon as possible". James looked at her deeply, as if he was trying to interpret her words, read between the lines. Mystique gave him a small cloth bag she had brought with her. "It may sound familiar to you, in here there are a few doses of Hank's serum. This will help with your legs and the voices in your head". She smiled slightly, with some affection, but it was a sad smile. "I wish you didn't have to go through all of this. Erik may deserves it, but not you; you've never done anything bad to anyone". She took his hand, giving him a little affectionate squeeze. "I must go now, Charles. Take care. Be careful".  
"I will. Thank you, Raven. Thanks for everything".

And before he could realize it, Mystique was gone as if she had never been there. He glanced inside the bag, and he couldn't help but stifle a smile. At least he would be able to sleep that morning.


	14. The Disappearance of Charles Xavier.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm late, but college... but here it is, hope you enjoy and, as always, let me know mistakes, please. ♥

It was a particularly cold morning.

Michael was thinking about that as he was leaving the building where he had been for the past two hours, zipping his leather jacket and wearing his gloves and sunglasses. He wasn't the most shivery person on Earth, but he was freezing at that moment and it was a sign of weakness that repelled him.

He was about to ride his motorbike, cursing the moment in which he decided that it was a good idea to go out with it and left the car in the parking, when he realize that something unusal was happening. He couldn't tell what, but he felt _something_ in the air, something that was telling him that danger was near, a big red abstract triangle. He stayed there, his hands upon the seat of the motorbike, trying to find out what was going on, unlike anyone else, who would probably run out, feeling the danger.

He felt, for the first time in a very long time, in his element. But that feeling disappeared, almost one second later, when he saw the person who irradiated that warn of danger he felt in his bones. A blast of memories came to his mind, memories in which that man, who was a few centimetres away from him, killed his mother, the mother of a little and scared Erik, who soon became a little and wrathful Erik, the same Erik who promised himself that, someday, he would kill that man. And, as absurd as it sounded, he had done that already. Yes, that day in Cuba, even though he had won Charles's hate, Erik had killed Sebastian Shaw, his torturer and teacher, the man who had turned him into a monster, at least what the rest of the world conceived as a monster, because, to his own eyes, he was still doing the right thing; it is true that all villains are heroes inside their own minds.

All that, and even more, came to his mind in that moment, like the detonation of an atomic bomb, all mixed with the infinite frustration cause by the fact that he was there, in front of him.

" _Der kleine_ Erik Lehnsherr. Well, I don't know if _kleine_ is correct at this point, but here you are. At least. I'm afraid we're a little bit too late, but I think it's enough". Sebastian Shaw smiled. Erik clenched his jaw untill he felt he was hurting himself. "Where's Charles?".

In that moment, the cars all around them started to rise a few centimetres above the floor. He wasn't able to control it, not really, not yet, but his anger was being channelled through his powers.

"Don't worry, you can't do anything to me. I just came to tell you that we have Charles and it's up to you if you want to see him alive again or not".

He turned pale and realized that the cars were back to the ground, showing his moment of weakness because of Shaw's words.

"No... You can't... He...".  
"Oh, I would never have imagined you like this, Erik", Sebastian laughed.  
"Leave him. He hasn't done anything to you. And you don't need him. Take me if you want, but leave him".  
"Oh, Erik... Why do you think you're both here? If I made you forget everything you were it was for a reason, don't you think? For now I will take Charles, but you will help me because you want him to still alive, right?". He walked towards him untill he was just a few centimeters away from Erik, even closer than before, saying everything with a mocking tone that raised Erik's anger to levels never achieved before. He wondered how he couldn't have remembered that before. How he hated his presence. The tone of his voice. Its quite unnecessary evilness, that he had finished learning. He tried to attack him with part of a lamppost, when he realized that both were in a kind of a magnetic field with the shape of a dome that nothing could penetrate, a smart move by Shaw.  
"You have no right to do that...".  
"Oh, of course I have. No one can...". At that moment, Erik interrupted him punching him in the face. He couldn't use his powers inside that dome, but at least he had his own physical force and a bunch of accumulated anger claiming for freedom. Shaw stood with his head cocked, as if he was trying to decide whether it had hurt him or not, when he put a smile on his face. "I have tamed you once, Erik Lehnsherr. I can do it again. Or do I have to kill Charles as I did with your mother?". He raised his fist to punch him again, but Sebastian grabbed him with his bare hand. "You have no choice, Erik. You know you don't".

And, suddenly, he wasn't there.

Erik broke down, leaving himself fall backwards upon the pavement while silent tears of impotence and anger were running down his face. He had felt so weak and vulnerable... He got on the bike and drove home as fast as possible, only to find that Shaw's words were real and Charles wasn't there. He had sworn to himself that he would never let anyone hurt him, and he hadn't even been able to stand up to the person who had done him more harm than anyone.

That was the first time Michael wasn't happy to be Erik, though probably it wouln't be the last.

**

He had injected himself the serum a few minutes after Raven left, and it was the most pleasant feeling he had ever experienced. Suddenly, the voices had abandoned him for the first time in days and felt his legs again, something he thought it could never happen again.

He walked around the house, just because he could do it, and then he got into bed for a while, surrendering to sleep after a few minutes because he hadn't slept properly since he had awakened from that sort of coma, and the mere possibility of sleeping without having nightmares was just too attractive to waste it.

Sleep came, refreshing and devoid of disturbances, but everything changed when he awoke, with a happiness that lasted in his being just a minute.

The first thing he noticed were the chains. They were around his wrists, not too tight, but enough so that he couldn't get free. He didn't know where he was, but surely it was kilometers away from his bed, the last place he had been consciously. He looked around, but there was only bare walls, just as one would imagine a prison cell would look like on the inside, even without having seen one in reality. His mouth was dry, but at least he was still feeling his legs: being able to move meant that the voices would still quiet, and even though he couldn't send a distress message if he had his powers, he preferred any kind of torture before having all those voices tormenting him again.

"Michael?", he said quietly, almost in a whisper, wishing stupidly that he was there. Silence was all the answer he received, and he thanked that: on second thought, it was better if Michael wasn't there, wherever it was. What could they want from him to keep him there and chained?

What could they want from Charles Xavier?

A man came in, someone who he didn't know, a face easy to forget. He released him, and James was surprised with the superhuman strength that he seemed to have while crawling him along a narrow corridor that never ended, or that was the feeling James had.

"Who you are? What do you want? Please don't hurt me...". The man didn't answer, he just kept pushing him, leading him to the end of that winding corridor, where there was a richly decorated room, completely different from the previous passage, as if they had just crossed the portal to another dimension. There was another group of people, of which James was also unable to identify anyone, but, unlike the man who had accompanied him there, they were curiously familiar, like when you hear a song you've heard before elsewhere but can't remember when or where.  
"Charles". The man who was sitting in one of the expensive sofas clapped and smiled. "Please sit. You have to forgive our manners, but we couldn't think of another way to bring you here without any kind of inconvenience". He approached a glass with what looked like champagne, but James felt that it was better not to touch it, even if he was dying of thirst.  
"What do you want from me?". He stared at the man, at the blonde woman in white standing behind him, at the red man with a demonic look who was looking out the window. He had to admit it, he was scared of what they might do to him.  
"Oh, don't worry, we won't hurt you. We just want you to collaborate in our little mission. Once this is over, you'll be free again. And believe me, we can do this very easy, or, if you don't cooperate, we can go through the hard way. And with that I mean Erik won't have a nice time, do you understand?".

James swallowed hard, feeling cornered. They sought to threaten the only thing that mattered to him in the world, and he realized that there was nothing he could do. He wanted to scream, mourn and kill those people with their own hands, but he knew that any of those things would worsen the situation, so he was silent, trying to appear calm while he was dying inside.

"Well, what do you say? Deal?". James was still silent, knowing that any of the two options would be unpleasant. Sebastian Shaw walked towards him, holding his chin to lift his head. He crossed him with those cold eyes as an iceberg. "I want to hear you".  
"Yes, I have no other choice, after all. But you have to promise me you will not do anything to Mi... Erik".  
"You have my word". Shaw put his hand on his chest where his heart was supposed to be. "Emma will help you with your powers and to remember everything you've forgotten, okay? But I guess that, first, you'll want to settle, right?". He smiled, as if that situation was the most natural and cheerful in the world. He spoke to the other characters in the room. "You know what you have to do".

They took him to a sumptuous room, like the rest of the building seemed to be except that kind of cells from which he came, where they left him to change clothes and to have a shower, to _settle_. How was he going to be comfortable when they were gunpointing him with a gun in the back of his neck? He felt that he couldn't breathe, and he let the tears fall from his eyes just to feel better. How long would that madness last? What would they force him to do?

_Michael. Michael._

_Help me, Michael. Don't leave me alone. Not now._

No matter how hard he wished it, his thoughts wouldn't flood another head that wasn't his own, at least not at that time, and probably, once he returned to rely on his powers, they couldn't help because they would be there, following Michael's movements, knowing if he cared, if he knew his whereabouts, if he attacked, if he released Magneto from his inside.

 _Michael is Erik Lehnsherr_. He couldn't think of that without having a shiver running through his spine.

He got into the shower, burning his back with boiling water, as it was his custom.

He needed to wake from that nightmare. As soon as he could. Now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And BTW, _kleine_ is _little_ in German!


	15. Everything that I know, I know only because I love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, I know, and I'm really sorry. I just can promise you that eventually I will upload the entire fic, just give me time. In the meantime, here you are, chapter 15. As always, please, let me know if there are mistakes - I know that there would probably be a lot of them -, and enjoy!
> 
> xoxo;

He looked for him everywhere, but James seemed to have disappeared from the face of the Earth. Erik spent his days running and sleepless nights, waiting for something that would never come. He had stopped living, and all because someone had taken the only reason he had to do it so. Sebastian Shaw gone away with it: he had attacked, he had been effective, he had hurted him and, yes, even worse, he had manipulated him at will. He had demonstrated him again how small he was, no matter how powerful he felt.

Magneto was the mask Erik wore to feel indestructible, but it was nothing more than a mere disguise.

That evening the phone rang for the first time in weeks. Erik replied, not without having to clean the dust that had covered it already.

"Erik?".  
"Mystique". It didn't take him too long to realize it was her again.  
"Don't talk too loud, and don't say my name again. You have to listen, I'll be brief: we will rescue Charles, but we need you. You are being watched, so you have to do the following: take the next plane to New York, to North Salem. It won't be difficult, you'll have to find the old _Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters_. Once you get in there you won't be followed anymore. We'll meet there".

He hung up, trying to process what he had just heard. Finally, and not quite sure of what he was doing, he grabbed a suitcase, he filled it with whatever he found inside the wardrobe and took James's car to go to the airport where he followed Raven's instructions step by step.

The things he had to do for love.

**

The mansion was just as he had imagined, or at least, it was just as his newly acquired memories had shown him, but perhaps he had more details of the white sheets from Charles's bed than of the outside of the building. He didn't need to call; the doors opened in his path, as if they had been waiting, calculating every second of the trip.

Mystique was at the door of the mansion, watching him with some kind of happiness in her face.

"Welcome back, Erik".

Erik didn't answer; he didn't know what to say. With his only suitcase in hand, he stood before her, looking at her. She led him, a few minutes later, to Charles's bedroom, entering and closing the door once he was inside.

"I thought you'd like to stay in this room while you're here".

He closed his eyes, realizing Charles's odor was still all over the room. The huge bed with white sheets and canopy, in which they had made love so many times, the first time he discovered he could really feel something for someone, something stronger than hate. The windows of long pale shades, those that swayed in the wind those nights when the room temperature reached unsuspected limits.

He was there, back to Paradise, only this time he was alone.

He sat on the edge of the bed, realizing for the first time how many days he had been without him. He felt very tired and very sad, and Raven noticed that realizing too that it was the first time Erik was being vulnerable in front of her.

"Thank you, Mystique".  
"You don't have to thank me, Erik. I know what you're going through".  
"You have no idea...". He took a long breath. "This is the first time in my life I feel I need something, someone, and it's heartrending".

Raven took one of his hands between hers. Silence reigned in the room and there they were, sitting on the edge of Charles's bed, thinking about absolutely nothing. It was kind of mysterious how can someone could be next to another person and, even so, feeling abysmally alone.

"Raven".  
"Tell me".  
"Would you do something for me?".  
"Of course".  
"Maybe it sounds weird, even sick, but, could you do the same you did last time we were together? I need it".

If Raven's skin wasn't blue Erik probably would realize how flushed her cheeks were. She would always love Erik, and she didn't know if that was right even if she was dying to be with him. But she knew he was telling the truth, he needed that, that man with those infinite eyes was drowning in a lake full of quicksand, and a brief illusion couldn't hurt anyone... could it?

"Close your eyes".

Erik closed his eyes, thinking that he was so tired they would probably remain closed forever. He felt two warm hands upon his cheeks, a touch that was painfully familiar. He opened his eyes and there he was, the only thing that mattered to him in the world, even though it wasn't real. Charles. Charles and his eyes like the sky. Charles and his lips like cherries. Charles and his perfect, pale skin. Not even an inch different from the real one, just as he remembered him: his Charles.

Raven didn't say a word. They both got into bed and just hugged each other, until Erik fell asleep, after a lifetime without doing it. She felt irremediably well even though that love she was receiving wasn't really addressed to her. She was healing a wound in the chest of the second love of her life, and that was what really mattered. She contemplated his long lashes, feeling his arms around her, and she felt in Heaven. Without thinking about it, she touched his lips with hers, or, more precisely, Charles's lips, and she had a shiver when Erik returned it, parting his lips and introducing his tongue inside her mouth, like if he was exploring a place that, even though he knew it better than anything, was always wanted.

"Erik...". The kiss lasted a second or an hour, Raven wasn't sure. Erik answered with just a grunt. "No".  
"Shut up". Erik kissed her lips again, placing one of his hands in her face, gently. He was aware that he was with Raven and not with Charles, but his lack of sex and love after so many days made him indifferent to the fact that he was cheating on Charles... but we're they really in a relationship? No one said anything because no one knew. In that moment he could only be aware of how much he desired the person he had in front of him, no matter who he or she was.

He got astride upon that exact copy of Charles, feeling his libido rising. It wasn't love that time, just pure lust. It was like if he had a lot of accumulated adrenaline inside his body struggling to get out, and that was his way to answer to it. Someone had turned on the switch inside him, so now, all of a sudden, he couldn't stop. He smiled, showing all his teeth, just before buying a ticket to that fake Paradise on Earth.

**

Days continued to pass by, only that now he knew something about Charles, even though all the current residents of the mansion had made an agreement of not telling Erik anything about the place where Charles was being kept: they all knew enough about him to be sure that, even if he had no chance of winning, he would go all alone, believing that he was indestructible, to fight Shaw for everything he had made, not just to Charles but to him. If James had been there, he could have sworn, after seeing that man who was blinded by his own hate once again, that there was nothing left of Michael Fassbender in him, that Erik Lehnsherr had absorbed him entirely.

It was just by night, when he was fooled with his need of physical contact, calmed by Raven hidden in the skin of his only love, when his vulnerability appeared, again, taking place inside of him and making Magneto disappear for a while. Yes, neither he or Raven were proud to admit that that first encounter had become, little by little, in a habit, something that happened by need but where no one asked, no one talked. For a moment, Erik could forget what was really happening, and he could thought that he was back again with Charles in his arms, in a place far away, somewhere quiet and nice where nothing really mattered because everything was just fine.

He was hitting a punching bag, trying to suffocate his anger that was trying to destroy everything around him. Did they really want to do something to save Charles? Did they wait for Charles to rot to go and find him?

He punched with all his strength and he forced himself to stop when he realize that blood was running down his knuckles. Maybe he had broken something, but he didn't really care.

Logan joined the gym, not even saying a word. When he approached Erik, nevertheless, he payed attention to his bleeding fist.

"You should do something with that, kid". Logan raised an eyebrow.  
"Like if you really cared, Logan".  
"I worry that, when the time comes, you'll be shattered and we will have to carry you as a drag". Wolverine sat down, pulling out a cigar he proceed to light up.

Erik smiled. Maybe he disliked that guy because he was quite similar to himself.

To himself...

But, really: who the hell was he?

He left the gym without saying goodbye to Logan, immersing himself in thought. He headed to the library, probably the best place in the entire world, the most reliable representation of Charles he could find; being there flooded him with an absolute melancholy.

He sat on the sofa, with a glass full of whiskey in his hand. He sighed.

He would kill everybody if he didn't have Charles soon.


	16. Supernatural sensation.

Memories started to come out, little by little, drowning the voices in his head, making him feel better and worse at the same time. Emma Frost, the lady in white he saw when he arrived, helped him everyday. She was even nice to him. It was okay, being able to discover something real about his true past, but the matter was that, even though he could see that man, Charles Xavier was still a stranger to him. It was like remembering a very vivid film, a film that hadn't been shot yet. His powers were growing every passing minute, and even though it was forbidden to him the use of Hank’s serum and he was chained, metaphorically speaking, to a wheelchair - a wheelchair that Sebastian Shaw had provided to him, all kindness -, he was starting to embrace his mutant nature with some pleasure. And even though he didn't understand everything that was happening to him, that was the reality.

That night he was in bed, reading a book, Goethe's _Fausto_ , trying to forget for a while that he was a volunteer prisoner, knowing that Emma, even though she was so friendly to him, she was watching all the movements of his telepathic waves. Her mutation wasn't as strong as Charles's, but she was capable of knowing what he was up to.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door; someone had called, softly, with their knuckles.

"Hello?". James closed the book, leaving it by his side. He would like to go to open the door by himself, but obviously he was incapable to get up, at least since he was forced to not being able to feel nothing from the waist down.

Sebastian Shaw crossed the door closing it behind him. James wasn't able to gulp, asking himself what was that man doing there. Since the first moment his presence made him nervous, like if his body was reacting to some kind of stimulus, like if he was trying to activate a mechanism of defence.

"Goodnight, Charles, I hope not to bother you". Shaw's cold eyes were trying to convey warmth, but it was an impossible task.  
"No, of course don't", lied James.  
"I'm glad that so it be". Sebastian sat down in the edge of the bed. "The truth is that I'm very happy with your behaviour. Since you arrived here you have known how to be... a very good boy". He didn't say anything, he couldn't also feel it, but he saw how Sebastian placed a hand in his leg, far away from everything that was morally accepted, caressing his extremity like it was something valuable.  
"Well, that was what I said I would be doing, isn't it?". James gulped, holding back the urge to hit him: even though his legs were totally insensitive, the mere fact of thinking that he was in direct physical contact with that man, disgusted him.  
"Charles, c'mon, you've always knew what you are... Well, you have to, seeing your relationship with Erik".  
"What... what I am? I think you're...".

And in that moment, Sebastian Shaw placed his lips upon James's, cutting his words even though it didn't take him too long to push him away.

"What the hell are you doing?". He cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling disgusted.

But obviously Sebastian Shaw didn't take that too well. The same way Erik had done to him before, he knocked out James with a punch in his face, leaving him lying on the bed with a slightly distorted view of reality. Shaw astride upon him, hitting him again, a million times, James couldn't keep count. There were just the darkness and the taste of blood in his mouth, and, later, an intense pain that he could hardly believe, because it could only mean that Sebastian Shaw was penetrating him, all against his will, and even though it couldn't be a real pain because he didn't feel that part of his body anymore, there it was, burying him alive. 

He fainted at some point, which, when he woke up in the dark loneliness of his room, he considered a blessing. He had his body sore and full of bruises and scratches, and he wasn't even able to move himself without crying in pain, but at least he was glad he was alive, or something like that. His nose was bleeding. He hugged his knees while he cried in silence, missing Michael more than ever, the warmth from his body, remembering that night, in that party, the first time they discovered their attraction was reciprocal. How was he? Would he miss him as much as James missed him? Would he still be the man he remembered?

 

He dried a couple of tears more and he looked for the better position so his body didn't hurt much, and there, feeling more miserable than ever in his life, he decided to sleep, just sleep, sleep to forget.

**

He was walking from a place to another all around the library, feeling like a wild animal that has been caged for the first time.

"When are we supposed to do anything? Should I wait here until I rot, or what?". As days were passing by, he was growing surly, angry. At the beginning he was trying to control himself but, at that point, he didn't care anymore. He needed to kill Sebastian Shaw, even though it would be for the second time in his life, and, above all, he needed to save Charles. He couldn't think of him suffering, it made him feel an anger that probably on Earth no one had felt before.  
"Erik, please, is not that easy". Scott Summers, in his role of leader in the absence of the professor, was trying to control Magneto, but he knew that no one could do it. Without Charles they couldn't use Cerebro, and trying to find Shaw and his group of mutants was a hard task. Luckily, they had found his hiding place, but the problem was that they didn't know what to expect from such place, which wouldn't be a problem if they had Charles's power by their side, something Erik Lehnsherr couldn't understand.  
"It is not that difficult!".  
"Erik, please...".  
"YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO CALL ME LIKE _THAT_!". Everyone was staring at him, like if the scene was frozen, all of a sudden. He didn't even know where those words had come from, but he couldn't stop them. "For you I'm Magneto, and I won't tolerate another name. You hear me?". 

His words were full of poison. He was screaming just a few centimetres away from Scott's glasses, and once he finished, he left the room, in a fury. Cyclops thought that, of all the inhabitants of the mansion, Charles was the most important one, given the fact that he was the only one capable of taking control of the situations completely, specially in those cases, and he was thinking about how easy things would have been if he was there to calm down Erik.

 _Soon, Charles, soon._

Or they'd better be if they didn't want to be murdered by Magneto and his uncontrolled rage.

**

 

He felt Emma's presence 24/7, keeping contact with his mind, waiting to block his telepathic waves just in case they left the building where he was being kept. Even that night, when Shaw joined his room and used him like a toy, there she was, loyal to her duty, reading his mind, something he was indescribably ashamed of, but, and he hadn't got enough words to thank her, she hadn't said a word about it. At the beginning it was really annoying to him, but he had started to get used to it, to the point he almost forgot her presence, even though he had trained himself for not to think about his relationship with Michael, because it was something he didn't want to share with anybody. 

"Good morning". Emma, like if thinking of her had made her appear there, had entered his bedroom, opening the blinds and making his light eyes hurt with the light. Frost was practically in completely charge of him, and even though Charles didn't trust her, they had ended up having something suspiciously close to a friendship, something he didn't feel about the rest of the inhabitants of that house/prison. Contact makes love, and that was the example, even though it wasn't love at all. 

Emma helped him to get up, take a shower and dressing up, and they went together to the dining room to have breakfast. The room was completely empty when they got there. 

"Have you remembered anything else? Has anything happened with your powers that I should know?".  
"Hm... I don't think so, my memories and my powers are still the same, I'm afraid. But now that you ask, there's something I want to ask you in relation with the powers".  
"Go ahead, let's see if I can help you", she smiled.  
"What's exactly the difference between my powers and yours? Not to mention that you can turn into a diamond, obviously". Since a few days ago he had started to notice that his Scottish accent was starting to become more and more soft, sounding more like an English accent, and that was something he didn't like not even a bit.  
"You see, Charles, you are much more powerful than I am. Your mutation doesn't just allow you to access the minds of the others and suggest them, you can also take total control over them. Let's just say that you have the ability to have extrasensory experiences, to say it in a more simple way. I know that, until now, we have just learned how to read minds, but there are a lot of other things that you can do with your powers. You're an exceptional being". She was talking to with a genuine tenderness in her voice. "That's why you're so important, Charles".  
"Thank you, Emma".  
"You don't have to thank me, I'm just doing what I have to do".

He started to think. Emma controlled his telepathic waves so they couldn't be in touch with no one else, but she hadn't access to his real-time thoughts, something to which James was deeply grateful. What Emma had just said opened him hundreds of doors. Maybe he couldn't escape from there because he had never tried to do something else apart from reading minds and he didn't have too much faith in himself, but maybe, and just maybe, he could entertain Emma just the time enough to make contact with Raven. His sister would know what to do, and she could even know something about Michael

He bite a toast while he was removing his cup of tea with a spoon. - _Tea? Why the fuck am I drinking tea, if I don't even like it?_ -. Maybe that could be a productive day, after all. 

When they finished their breakfast they came back to the bedroom, just because James asked Emma to do it. He thought it was a good moment to try his plan, and to know if it worked.

Emma was about to leave him alone when he paralyzed her with his mind.

_I'm sorry, Emma I really am. If it makes you feel better, once this is over, you won't remember that this has happened._

That was natural talent or maybe it was that, even though he didn't remember, he had done that plenty times before. He kept Emma static, frozen, which was a really bad joke taking in count her surname, and he tried to focus to find Raven's mind between all those new consciences all around him. If he only had Cerebro...

_Raven._

He had found her.

He felt terribly tired and he knew he wouldn't resist for too long but yes, he had found her. She was in front of someone he couldn't identify because he looked like a silhouette in the fog.

_Raven, can you hear me?_

Raven didn't seem to answer his mental calls, so he decided to go deeper in her sister's mind to reach the point in which, when he opened his eyes, he knew he was opening Raven's, and that he was seeing the world just as she saw it. It wasn't what he had planned, but of course it was way further than he expected to achieve. 

It was his room. Well, not really, it was Charles's room. It was Westchester. 

It was his mansion. He was in his bed, lying down, naked. What was going on? He got up, realizing that he had total control of Raven like if he had borrowed her body, and he was enjoying the sensation of feelings his legs again, even though they weren't his own, when he looked at the mirror, once he was inside the bathroom, and it was his own image what he found there. Why the hell had Raven adopted his looks? Well, not his, once again. Charles's. As stupid as it seemed, there were some differences between them, starting with Charles's awful taste in clothes - even though he was naked at that moment - and ending up with his hair and beard. James had decided that Charles was a very gaudy person. 

 

He kept looking at the mirror, forgetting for a moment that he would probably have to come back soon, when he made a conclusion: if Raven was naked and under his skin, did that mean that she was having sex with someone using him?

He had the most intense shiver in his life, but it multiplied when he thought of...

What if that person... was still there?


	17. "Phone" sex.

He left the bathroom almost running, once he put on some trousers he found on the floor - he didn't even care if they weren't his -, and there he was, even though he had forced himself to think the opposite, because his subconscious had started to intuit it, Michael, sleeping placidly, without knowing what was happening around him, covered by the pale sheet of the bed just to the waist and without any other piece of clothing upon his skin, including underwear.

James felt something between anger and pain, something he had never felt before. Not even the image, that in other circumstances would have made him going crazy, changed his feelings and his confusion. Raven, the one he had began to consider as a sister after all, had been sleeping with Michael and, what was more, using his looks? The mere fact of thinking about it made him feel sick.

"Michael". He didn't move, like if James hadn't said nothing at all, like if he wasn't there. "Michael!". He shook him by the arm, not too gently. Michael opened his eyes, slowly, and he looked at him with a smiling air.  
"What's the matter?". He sat down, rubbing his eyes. "And why did you just call me like that?". He was about to add something else when he realized he was not talking to Raven anymore: he didn't need more to know; that look, registered mark, it could only belong to James McAvoy, even though the lack of facial hair and the different haircut. He was James, unbelievable but true, and he looked, not just slightly, but hugely angry.  
" _Like that_? What the actual fuck did ye expect me tae call ye!?". His Scottish accent intensified for no reason at all, and he had to guess many of the words from that question.  
"Charles. How can it be possible that it's you?".  
"Have ye realized, by any chance, that I am a bloody mutant? But if I have tae call ye Magneto, the fucking master ay the fucking Universe, ye could just keep calling me by me fucking real name, ye fucking Batman!". He was still indescribably angry, which could be noticed by the number of curses per second, and he would probably stay that way. Erik couldn't blame him, he had all the right to be so angry with him. But, and against all his forecasts, Charles - or James - soon stopped screaming and almost throwing foam by his mouth to lay down on the bed, on his knees, crying like if he was a child. "Why have you done this to me? With my sister! And asking her...". He looked at his own hands, like if he couldn't believe it. In less than three days, he had had too many traumatic experiences.  
"James, James". He stood on his knees, too, both at the same height. "I'm sorry. I'm so terribly sorry. I missed you so much... I couldn't stand it. I couldn't sleep. I needed you. I was dying. Then I asked Raven to pretend she was you just to stay with me, and I could sleep for the first time in weeks and... I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking at all. I need you". He hold his face in his hands, and he saw tears in his eyes, sincere tears. "I'm begging you, please, forgive me. I know I don't deserve it, but please".

James looked at him, like if that was the first time he was doing it. He had changed so much in so little time and, even though, he was still... him. It was a sensation that made him shiver, but it also made him feel good. It was confusing, like everything else in his life at that moment.

"I can't be mad at you. You're the love of my life". He kissed him on the lips. He didn't know why he had said that at that moment, but he felt the need to do it so. After the loneliness and Shaw abusing him that way, he needed to hold something, and that was, at least at that moment, the man he had in front of him. - You just have to promise me that you won't do it again.  
"You didn't have to tell me that", smiled Michael. He drag him by pulling his trousers until they were like each other's second skin, and he kissed him again, passionately, deeply. James couldn't resist. - I love you. I love you too much.  
"Me too". He looked at him, caressing his face. Michael circled him with his arms and they both stayed there, hugging upon the bed, until James broke the moment, not without being sorry about it. "Listen. I have to go back now. Is everybody in the mansion?".  
"Scott's in charge. Yes, they're all here".  
"I have to tell them where they are keeping me".  
"No. I mean, it's not necessary. They already know. They just don't want to tell me. We are waiting because they want to make sure that they're ready". Michael snorted, like a caged cat. "I'm sorry, if this was on my hands, you would be in this bed since a long time ago". He stole another kiss from him.  
"Or maybe dead. I don't know who you are right now, but I think I know you. It doesn't matter if you're called Michael or Erik, you are equally idiot in both cases". He smiled, that being his little _vendetta_ , and Michael couldn't protest. "I'm leaving, I have to. If Scott's in charge we'll meet again soon. I have complete faith in him". Typical Charles Xavier. He gave Michael one last kiss and his soft lips were the the last thing he felt just before being back in his wheelchair, exhausted like if he had just run thousands of miles, with a static Emma Frost a few centimetres away from him, like a real-size doll. Incredibly, nothing had gone wrong in his plan, even though what really happened wasn't quite similar to his original idea. His powers were way better than he expected, and he thought that maybe he could give them more use in the future.

He smiled.

Meanwhile, Emma Frost was leaving his room without having even the slightest idea of what had just happened.

**

It was a cold winter morning, one particularly cold and stormy, with a weather that invited to be melancholic, affecting negatively the mood. That day, nevertheless, was a happy day for Erik, and it wasn't just because he liked to be against the rest of the world: finally, after too many headaches, they would leave Westchester to go to Chicago, where Shaw was hiding.

He could barely sleep but he felt energetic, alive, for the first time in a considerable time. He still sleeping with Raven, but their sexual relationships had disappeared, not without effort. Charles - Erik didn't mind if he prefered James when it came to call him - couldn't complain because he wasn't doing nothing more than to be with his sister, even though she kept shifting into him by Erik's request, who considered that, once the sexual factor was out of the question, there wasn't anything reprehensible about their time together. Hugging Raven and pretending that Charles was still there so he could sleep couldn't cause any harm. And that night he had done that exactly, but he couldn't sleep anyway. A week has passed since he had talked with the real Charles, and he still thinking about it and feeling a piercing void inside him. Maybe his was a particular way of love, but, oh, how much he loved him.

He was lying in bed, with his head resting upon his hand. He slided a couple of fingers down Raven's cheek, who was still asleep, tracing Charles's cheekbone. The sun was coming up but everybody was still just like Raven, she with her mouth open while sleeping placidly. Erik was still fascinated by the fact that the physical differences were non existent, amazed by how someone was able to imitate such a beautifully perfect creature as Charles, and do it exactly.

He kissed her naked shoulder and he stayed there, with his eyes closed, his lips against that pale, soft skin. It was a matter of hours, and anxiety was killing him. 

_Michael?_

He hadn't imagined that; that was his voice, sounding inside his head.

_Char... James? James, is that you?_

_Yes._

Erik smiled. The mere fact of feeling his presence, that he was there, made him indescribably happy.

_I miss you._

His voice was sad, almost broken. For a moment he wondered if they were torturing him and that he was trying to hide that from him, but he prefered not to ask.

_I miss you too. You have no idea. I need you._

_If I could only... touch you._

Erik was wondering why he didn't do the same he had done the time before, and James heard that as if he was telling him so directly. 

_Raven's sleeping. It wouldn't be good for her. But... do you still sleeping with her?_

_She asked me for it. She told me that she didn't want to sleep alone. I promise you that I'm not having sex with her or anything similar, I'm just keeping her in company._

He could hear something like a sigh in his head.

_We're coming for you today, James._

_Today?_

_Yes._

_Hope so. I need to see you already. I want to..._

It was at that moment when Erik felt his own hand moving against his will. Suddenly, he was caressing his own face, and his hand started to move down, all over his body.

_... touch you._

_James..._

_You have no idea of how good it feels. Close your eyes. Forget that I'm not there._

Even if he wanted to fight it back, he couldn't: he was at the mercy of Charles, who had taken control of his hand, caressing him suggestively. He follow his path down his chest and stomach, and he stopped just a second before he reached his crotch.

_Charles, Raven..._

_She isn't going to wake up. I want you, Michael._

He still with his eyes closed, and he had started to masturbate even before he realized it. He could hear Charles moaning inside his head, knowing that, apart from being in charge of the movement of his hand, he was feeling what he felt to the touch.

It was as weird as fascinating. And exciting, surprisingly exciting.

He bite his lip and he knew that he hadn't done that either. To his mind came images Charles himself was sending to him, memories he kept from the two of them, things that raised his excitement to unexpected levels.

He opened his eyes and he knew that Charles was seeing through them. Naked, lying in bed and masturbating, he bet Charles wouldn't be disappointed with the scene.

_You're fucking perfect._

Michael came, trying to drown out the sounds provoked by the orgasm, amplified by Charles's powers, which seemed to have unexpected uses. He had never felt that good before, and then, at least, he had found the relaxation he had been looking for.

_I can't hold this anymore. I have to go back. Thank you. That was amazing. I'm sorry I have to experiment with you but I have... hmm... needs._

_I know. Don't apologize, that was fantastic. I'll see you soon. I love you._

He felt his presence vanishing from his mind, and a strange feeling of helplessness flooded him. 

At least then he could sleep until they decided to leave.


	18. Zero.

Chicago.

Chicago was huge, noisy, beautiful in its particular way. Erik had been there before, but he was still thinking the same he thought the first time. Not everyone loved the city, but at least it was a place Erik didn't feel capable of destroying, and that was a lot, coming from him.

James was a few kilometres away from them. He was in the living room with Emma, and he was anxious, just like he had been since Michael had informed him of what was going to happen, that that was the day. Even though he was nervous, everything was going well. No one knew nothing about it, everything was normal and quiet, all the normal and quiet the life of a caged person against his will could be.

And then, Sebastian Shaw joined the room.

He approached the place where Emma and James were, talking without the need of opening their mouths.

"I'm glad you're here". Shaw draw a disturbing smile on his face while he put a hand upon one of James's shoulders, which almost caused him a shiver, but he could repress it just in time. Sebastian was wearing that helmet, the one that forbade him to enter his mind, annulling him as a telepath. "Charles, I want you to meet someone".

Three people joined the room, a woman and two men he had never seen before in his life. They were all young, even more than himself, hardly in their twenties, and the resemblance between them was remarkable, all of them blondes and with extremely blue eyes.

"Good". Shaw turned away from James, which he deeply thanked, and approached the new group. "He is David. David is able to modify the mind, probably one of the most powerful and interesting mutations that has ever existed. He was the one who modified your mind and Michael's. Since Cuba, all you know has been perfectly planned by David. You never got to kill me, as you can see".

James stood there, looking at David like the creature that looks the face of his creator for the first time. That man had introduced inside his head an existence so real that then he didn't want to recognize his own like the only one that was real. He didn't know Charles Xavier and he wanted to be called James McAvoy until the day he died, and all that was that man's fault. He wasn't sure if he wanted to thank him or to kill him slowly.

"She is Charlotte, David's older sister. Her mutation will be familiar to you: Charlotte is a multiform, like Raven, just without that neutral blue state she had always hated so much. Charlotte is almost a normal human being, with the only difference that she can take the shape she wants. Come on, Charlotte, show him".

He said something in her ear, and Charlotte noded before she stepped forward, until she was close enough to James. In the blink of an eye, Charlotte shifted into Erik, in the man of the permanently hostile expression he had found for the first time in the mist of his own memories. James realized that Shaw was trying to provoke him, but he decided not to give him that satisfaction: he kept looking at Charlotte expressionless, feeling inside of him the need of touching that face burning. He wanted to cry, but he didn't move not even a single one of the muscles of his face. He was an actor, for God's sake, they'd better had put another thing inside his head if they didn't want him to be good at pretending. 

"It is an splendid mutation, certainly".

Shaw looked at him with anger, but he didn't add anything else to the matter. 

"At last but not at least", he said while Charlotte was going back to the place between her brothers, without leaving Erik's form just to keep torturing him. _Please, make it disappear, please, please._ "He is Michael".

 _Yes, of course, of all the names in this world, he had to be Michael,_ James thought, not sure of how much time he would be able to stand without having a breakdown. Michael was the older, no doubt about it. Blonde, very light blonde and perfect hair, with a pair of eyes of the colour of the steel and a very marked jaw. There was something horribly inhuman in him. James couldn't help himself but to think of how much that man reminded him of a younger version of Michael, or more precisely, of David 8, the character he had played in _Prometheus._

"Michael has a mutation that makes him the most powerful weapon someone can have". James's curiosity was goaded at that point.  
"What do you mean?". His accent was more English than ever before.  
"Michael can swap the mutations of two individuals. He is a channeler, he tracks the mutations in the DNA and exchanges them for the other mutations extracted from the DNA of another individual. For example: he could make you have the power of magnetism while Erik would have your telepathic powers".  
"Wow, that's impressive".  
"You don't have to tell me. The only drawback is that his mutation requires an intense training. Unfortunately, all the changes he had done so far have been harmful for the subjects". Charles Xavier couldn't contain a look of horror on his face. "But, finally, we could control his powers. And here's where you appear, Charles".  
"I?".  
"Yes. Charles, you will have the honour to be... our patient zero". 

**

_Erik. Erik. Erik! Erikerikerikerik..._

Erik put his hands to his head, feeling it about to explode. It was Charles. Charles was screaming at him. Charles was crying inside his head, calling him _Erik_ for the first time since all that had started, obviously begging for help. 

_Charles. Charles, I'm here. What's happening, Charles?_

He heard hundreds of voices at the same time, like if he wasn't able to contain his own mind. 

_You have to help me, Erik. They want to hurt me. You have to come, quickly. Please._

Erik had a momentary panic attack, but he knew that he had to get to work as soon as he could. He ran through the corridors until he found Scott, who was talking with Logan about the plan of attack. Erik interrupted them, more desperate than angry for the first time.

"They're hurting Charles! He have asked me for help. He told me that we have to hurry or it'll be too late".  
"Are you sure that that it's not an excuse to go now?". Scott raised an eyebrow, not trusting him.  
"DO I LOOK LIKE I AM MAKING AN EXCUSE, YOU ASSHOLE!? CHARLES IS IN DANGER, IF WE AREN'T GOING TO LOOK FOR HIM RIGHT NOW I SWEAR I AM GOING TO DESTROY THIS ENTIRE CITY", even though he liked it, "UNTIL I FIND SEBASTIAN SHAW AND KILL HIM WITH MY OWN BARE HANDS".

Scott looked at him, realizing that he wasn't lying: even though he spent all his life doing it and he had achieved a certain mastery at it, he knew that that level of desperation couldn't be fake. Knowing that the situation was grave, Cyclops started to act like the leader he was, and in less than ten minutes they were in front of Sebastian Shaw's mansion, ready to save the life of the man that, paradoxically, had saved them all at least once.

**

James couldn't keep the panic inside of himself while he was being dragged to a stretcher with straps, where they tied him. They didn't even bother in doing that to his legs: they wouldn't move anyway, obviously. Charlotte was sitting on the stretcher right next to his, back to her normal aspect. David wasn't there, and Michael was standing beside his sister. Even though he was scared, James couldn't help looking at him. He was a fascinating creature regardless of his powers. He realized that James was contemplating him and smiled, as he approached the stretcher just to put his hand upon his forehead to reassure him, as if nothing happened. He grinned showing two rows of teeth very straight, just like _his_ Michael did.

"Everything's fine". He had crouched so he could be face to face with him, and then he was whispering to his ear with his deep but velvety voice, honeyed. "You'll have to trust me, okay? Sebastian wouldn't allow me to do this if he wasn't sure it would be perfect". He know Michael was lying, but the truth was that the boy knew how to calm people down. "My sister is also part of the project and, believe me, I wouldn't hurt her".

They both looked at Charlotte, sitting in the stretcher, submissive and quiet, waiting for orders. James didn't want to do it, but his body had started to relax against his will; yes, his words were working. Maybe that was part of his mutation, maybe...

James's thoughts were interrupted by a pair of hands that were placed in both sides of his head, on his temples, two cold but delicate hands, which also made him think in Erik, two hands that dragged him to the darkness of his own being, an obscure part he didn't know and for which he wasn't ready. 

He trembled, into the unconsciousness, and he knew he would never wake up again.


	19. Brotherhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware it has been ages since the last time I've uploaded this, but college leaves me with no time at all. But yes, finally here's the translation for the 19th chapter. Hope you enjoy it, and don't forget to leave me your thoughts on the comments! xxx

Sebastian Shaw seemed to be waiting for them to arrive. He was there, with Azazeal and another individual they didn't know, both behind him. He smiled, distilling that sensation of danger that characterized him and made the blood in Erik's veins boil. 

"You've arrived later than I expected. I can't say I'm happy to see you, but I knew this would happen anytime soon". He left out a sigh like if they were a minimal discomfort, an insect on the wall which he would smash without a true reason.  
"We came for Charles, and we can do this by hook or by crook. You chose". Cyclops seemed calm, and Erik looked at him as if he was trying to strangulate him. That. Wasn't. The. Right. Moment. To. Talk. IT WASN'T.  
"I'm afraid that won't be possible. Charles isn't here anymore".

In that moment they felt the ground trembling, like if there was an earthquake. Erik stared at him, aware that it was he who was causing the quake. 

"I know he's here". He had moved forward just a couple of steps, getting closer to Shaw.  
"Do you think that if Charles was near...". He took the helmet he used to wear to let nobody read his thoughts off; that _nobody_ , in that case, could only be Charles Xavier. " ... I would do this?".

The ground stopped moving, as quick as it had started. Erik was still gazing at him, thinking, trying to draw a plan. He could kill him then, but, what if Charles was really in another place? What if he couldn't find him anymore? He needed Shaw alive, at least until he made sure the telepath was safe and sound, wherever.

_Magneto._

He heard that voice inside his head, but it wasn't Charles's. It was a woman's voice, a voice he had heard many times before, though he had never let it get inside his head.

_Emma._

He hadn't heard anything about her anymore. In fact, he didn't know if she had really left Shaw's side in order to join the Brotherhood, but she sounded as familiar as the voice of a woman with whom one had shared bed many times - though that wasn't the case, really -.

_Erik, I don't want to help you, but I don't want Charles to suffer either. He doesn't deserve it, and I ignored which were Sebastian's plans. I'll make you get to Charles, but you must swear to me first that you won't tell absolutely nothing about this to anyone, never. I haven't help you._

_You can be sure, Emma. My lips are sealed._

_I don't do this for you. Don't thank me._

He really liked that woman. Intelligent, powerful. And gorgeous. It wasn't that that point was really important, but...

_Well, you tell me._

_You have to get inside. But you don't kill Sebastian. If you do it, I won't help you._

_Okay, I will get inside without killing him then._

A pipe merged from the ground, as if by magic. Like if it was paper, it wriggled around Shaw, who found himself paralyzed in less than five seconds, with both men behind him taken by surprise.

"Charles is inside. Make sure no one interferes. DO NOT TOUCH SHAW".

For once, no one seemed to care that it was Magneto who was in the leader role. Not even Scott Summers, who took his postion very seriously. They split into two groups to let Erik get inside Shaw's lair, because they all knew who was the person who would make Charles happier, and also because, with a fixed target, Erik would be an assured good help and not the walking problem he used to be.

He entered the building. For the first time in his existence, Erik felt his pulse accelerated. Yes, he was frightened. He feared something really bad had happened to Charles. He had sounded so desperate... and then, nothing. He had remained quiet, like a radio with no batteries.

_Look for a small, white door. It will be right at your left. Follow the corridor. You'll arrive to a laboratory. There should be Charles. Michael and Charlotte must be outside of the room, but you have to be careful anyways._

Erik had no idea of who the fuck were Charlotte and Michael, but he sent the telepathic equivalent of a nod - living with Charles had made him used to that kind of stuff - and he kept walking, following the blond telepath's instructions one by one. As she said, he found a lab - though maybe the word _laboratory_ was too big for it -, where there were two stretchers with straps at each side of them. Charles was lying in one of the stretchers, tied by the wrists, unconscious, with wounds in both sides of his forehead, glistening with sweat, with some tufts of his then considerably long hair sticking to his skin.

He took his pulse; fortunately, it was still there, at a healthy rate. He untied his wrists, which already had some bruises because of the pressure and the possible struggles, knowing that, though he didn't wake up, he wouldn't be able to move by his own feet.

"You can't take him away".

A voice came to him from his behind, calm, soft but authoritarian, just when he was about to left the room, thinking that, once again, he had failed Charles because he hadn't arrived in time.

He turned around, facing a young man he has never seen before in his life. He was looking at him, like if he was an automaton, his insensibility making Erik feel uncomfortable in a way he couldn't even imagine that it could be possible.

"You will have to make me not to do it so, whoever you are".  
"You wouldn't like it, I can assure you that".

_Erik, run. Leave. You don't need to fight him. You should take care of Charles._

"You have done this to Charles, right?". He put Charles back in the stretcher, with an infinite gentleness. Charles still without reaction.  
"Yes. But I haven't done anything bad to him".  
"You consider this...", he look in Charles's direction. He was still white as snow, " ... is haven't done anything bad? Do you really consider it?".

_Erik, go away, please. You don't need more problems at the moment._

"I have improved him".  
"Improved him?". In that moment, a scalpel flew into the inexpressive visage of that stranger, who still as inhumanly emotionless than before. "I should kill you for putting you hands on him".

_Erik, please, leave. I won't say I wouldn't be happy if you killed him, but it is not convenient. No._

"Right now, he is a privileged mutant. If we can finalize the project, he would be the most powerful mutant that has ever existed".

Erik stared at him. He was evaluating him. Not his words, but as an individual. He perceived some kind of resemblance between that young man and himself, but he was trying to eliminate that idea from his mind because it was disturbing. He attempted to reach his usual levels of rage, but he realized that it was costing him too much to be true. He was getting frustrated.

"You see, you don't look like a bad guy. I'm being honest, even though. I know you're a mutant, therefore a brother, and brothers must protect and help each other. The problem is...".

The scalpel moved forward, just an inch.

" ... that Charles is mine, and you've hurt him. Besides, I'm not in the mood today. At all".

Said that, the scalpel pierced that young man's right eye and his skull, making him fall to the floor. He didn't say anything, he didn't even scream; he just groaned in a low voice right before he started with a series of spasms that ended up with his final breath.

Erik wasn't aware of the kind of mutant he had just killed; he would regret it if he did knew it. In fact, he would regret it even more if he also knew that Michael was his brother, and not just because they were both mutants. That was the reason why David has called him Michael in the new life he had created for Erik.

But none of that mattered. Nothing that wasn't Charles.

Nothing that wasn't having the love of his life back. 

He left the building carrying Charles in his arms, once again. He kept his word and he didn't even kill Shaw: as much as he hated him, his priorities were still in order, and Charles was the most important thing.

He had always been, and he would always be.

**

They took directly a private plane that would land in Westchester. They didn't have any time to lose: Hank could take care of Charles at the moment, but he didn't have the proper equipment to do something really useful. 

Michael, because at some point between all that he had stopped feeling like Erik, was the entire flight with James in his lap, caressing one of his cheekbones, as he always loved to do, contemplating that face of him he found so perfect, the one he has kissed so many times before, the most precious thing on Earth. If something bad happened to him, he wouldn't be able to be around anymore. The guiltiness was killing him alive already, just like the repercussions of not having arrived sooner, because they would may have catastrophic consequences for James. He wanted to punch himself until he died.

James was still not giving any signals of life, and Michael was scared.

 _Shaw. Shaw had won again. I will kill him. As soon as this ends, I will kill him._ His revenge desires were almost inexistent, which was a miracle in him, drowned by despair, but he knew that, as soon as he know anything about James's state, good or bad news, he would go and end his job. For once and for all. It wasn't a threat, but a fact, and internal imposition of the subconscious that not even him could control: Sebastian Shaw had signed his death sentence right in the moment he had touched James McAvoy.

It didn't take them too long to arrive, and Erik himself took him to the mansion's infirmiere, Hank's territory. Beast had disappeared for the occasion, being McCoy under the effects of the serum the all knew, the same Charles used to turn off the voices in his head and walk. Erik left him there, and not being able to stand it anymore, he abandoned the room.


	20. The "other" guy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OMG, I AM SO SORRY.
> 
> Fuck you, college. Hope you enjoy this, it took me ages to translate. 
> 
> xoxo;

He had spent one entire night examining Charles. Hank was exhausted, but at least he had found a rational explanation of what was happening to him, luckily, because Erik would probably strangulate him with his own bare hands if he entered the room just to find out that Hank hadn’t anything to tell. He didn’t know how they had made it because it was something that he thought it was impossible until that day: they had altered Charles’s DNA, modifying some of his genes, adding new mutations to his body without eliminating the one that was already inside him. Observing his cells under the microscope had been quite an experience, and though Hank was worried about the repercussions that could have in the immediate future of the young professor, he couldn’t help himself but to be amazed.

He still as they had found him, without waking up, which didn’t mean there wasn’t any activity inside his brain. Hank had realized that Charles Xavier’s cerebral activity was reaching a worrying high point, even for the world’s biggest telepath. James didn’t know what was happening, but something had changed… _inside him_. He felt like the first time he had found Erik inside Michael, he was even in the same white room, though this time the door was open and there wasn’t any table. Those differences, nevertheless, were minimal: James knew that the biggest change was that, that time, he was inside his very own mind, and he was the one with the white suit, with cuffs around his wrists. He had some crimson marks around them, tattooed in his skin, and though he couldn’t remember how he had gotten them, the pain when he touched them seemed very real.

The door moved and someone joined the room. And of all the people that could’ve been there, who entered the room was the person he expected the less, the one who, ironically, he wanted to see the less at that moment.

The person was… himself. Or not exactly.

The stranger was a gaunt version of him, to the point Charles couldn’t realize he was identical to himself at a first glance. It seemed like he had been awake for weeks, slightly thinner than him, with the need of a shaving. He was dressing a black suit, which contrasted with the environment and with his own dead-like pale skin, and he didn’t say a word until he was just a few centimetres away from Charles’s face.

"Are you gonna be like that for the rest of your life or what?". He lifted the corner of his mouth, frowning.  
"Who are you?". His voice was still sounding with an extremely English accent, right the opposite of the man who was in front of him.  
"I am… hm… you". He looked at him fixedly. "At least the part of you that does all the hard work, my dear".  
"What’s going on?".  
"The thing is, Charles, darling…". He crossed his arms behind his back and started to walk around the room. "You’re dying. _We_ are dying. Do you remember that guy? Yes, I’m talking about that blondie, androidish good-looking fella that almost provoke you an erection". The repulsion was clear on his face at that point. "Let’s just say that he experimented with you. With _us_. They have been modifying your DNA, mutating it with everything they could. God knows what you have inside your body, but at least you can be grateful because I’m here, telling you all this, thanks to one of those mutations".  
"Are you my conscience?".  
"And are you a moron? Of course not. Call me Mr. Hyde, Dr. Jekyll. Though if this goes on the way it’s going right now, you won’t have time enough to call me a thing. Shaw didn’t care if you died, and no one knows if, though you’re already a mutant, the human body is able to bear such modifications of the DNA. So, here we are, you and I, my dear friend: just you and I".

Hank told Erik this story, or something like that. He told him he didn’t know if Charles would wake up, and if he did, when. He promised him he wouldn’t stop examining him, but they were, definitely, in uncharted waters. Erik left the laboratory and didn’t say a word, but the pain inside his chest was almost unbearable.

"And you can’t do anything?". James was still looking at that guy, who was still walking around the white room as if it was a museum full of paintings.  
"And what could I possibly do? I can’t bring people back to life. Well, technically, it haven’t even passed 24 hours since I’m alive. Am I bothering you?".  
"No". The truth was that not really, though it made him nervous the fact that the stranger was identical to him and completely different from him at the same time. He was thankful because he wasn’t alone in the dark, after all. He had been like that for a long time, and it had been the worst.  
"I know. I’ve been there too". James looked at him, the first time someone had read his thoughts and not the other way around. "Come on, James, don’t be scared, I know everything". He reached his back, feeling his hands upon his shoulders, his breath close to his ear as he whispered. "I know your fears, your desires. I know what you like, and I know what you hate. I know what makes you suffer… and what turns you on". He had lowered his voice until he reached a tone that was quite… seductive. "I know everything and, you know what?". His lips had touched his ear. Yes, seductive. He had stopped, there in silence, as if he was tasting the tension that was suddenly floating in the air. "You know what…? It is fucking disgusting!".

He moved backwards, showing that he was just trying to provoke him. James wondered what was going on inside that man’s mind: why did he know everything about him and he couldn’t know anything at all?

"Nothing makes me sicker than being trapped inside a faggot’s head. Seriously".  
"Tell me something: are you _inside_ my head or are you a part of it?". He decided to ignore him because it seemed the smartest thing to do and the only civilized thing that came to his mind.  
"I’m part of you. Completely. I’m something that was here already, just that know I have… autonomy. Kind of". He shrugged. "I don’t have a better way to explain it".  
"How is it possible then that you…?".  
"How is it possible that I don’t want to fuck Michael Fassbender’s ass? Is that what you are asking me? Well, let’s see… Even though you think you’re like the bloody Juliet and you love him with all your being, I have to tell you that you’re wrong, and I am the living proof of it".

James stared at him. He couldn’t believe what that man was saying. All that sounded absurd, especially if it was true that he was dying.

"I don’t make up what I say, James". He glanced at him solemnly, expressionless. "It just depends if your body can resist it. We can just wait".

The outside world seemed to have disappeared. He tried to project his telepathic powers, but it was like hitting his head against a wall.

He couldn’t end up like that, after all.

Just don’t.

**

One week had come and passed, and Erik had blood on his hands at last. He couldn’t wait any longer: James could wake up the next day, the next week. The next hour. Never. In the meantime, his impatience was growing, and so was his need to find someone to blame. And there he was, with Sebastian Shaw’s body at his feet, looking at his own hands, red by the blood, thinking of what would be next, then that he hadn’t any kind of motivation in his life. He had killed him without even using his powers, the old-fashioned way. He had left all his anger in that action, just as he used to do with the punching bag in the mansion’s gym, and he had felt better than most of the moments of his life.

"Who has won this time, huh?". He stuck the knife he carried with himself in Shaw’s face, splashing his face with the blood. Checkmate.

Blood, blood and more blood, but not even a hundredth of all the blood Shaw had spilled in his entire life. Erik knew he had done the best thing that could possibly be made to mankind, and though that wasn’t a happy thought to him, because he hated humans after all, he felt at peace.

Erik heard the sound of wood crackling at his back, and he turned around in less than it takes to inspire, startled, ready to attack. There was a blond girl, a few years younger than him, looking at the corpse with empty eyes.

"So, you’ve come back to end what you started". She looked up, piercing him with her eyes. "You can drop your weapon: I have nothing to hurt you. I used to be a mutant, but not anymore".  
"You…?".  
"I’m one of the mutants that offered themselves for Shaw’s project. My brother, the one you killed on your last visit, he was responsible to make it happen. I volunteered because I had faith in him, and truth be told, he made what he promised until you came and killed him. How could you have done this to him?".  
"How could he left Charles like that? No one knows if he will wake up, and it’s all his fault. I don’t give a shit about your brother". He turn around, ready to leave. Too much waste of saliva.  
"You should. He was your brother too. The name of Michael doesn’t tell you anything?".

He stopped, looking her right in the eyes, trying to know if she was lying. He knew she wasn’t. He felt flooded by desolation, but he didn’t express not even a thing.

"Charles Francis Xavier is the only family I have left. It is not a matter of blood. No one messes with my family". He felt an involuntary tear running down his cheek, but he didn’t let her see it. He promised himself that. He wouldn’t be weak. "You’d better leave. You don’t want to be the next to be dead".

He wasn’t looking at her, but he heard her leaving. Charlotte Eisenhardt left the building knowing that she had lost a battle forever. Michael, though the fact that he had killed the original Michael made him feel like an usurpator, thought that he would come back to the mansion, not saying a word about what had happened there.

Yes, he would come back home.

He dried that single tear, realizing that his entire face was covered in blood. 

Nothing Magneto hadn’t seen before, after all.

**

He opened his eyes, and he felt that he couldn’t breathe. His lungs hurt, his eyes burned and he couldn’t see, though he had them open.

But he was alive.

He felt that someone was trying to help him, but he couldn’t see him. The oxygen was reaching his lungs at last, from the inside of a bottle, and he felt his body weird, as if that was the first time he was in the world.

" … Charles, Charles, can you hear me?".

Sounds came as if he was underwater, but yes, he could hear him.

_I can hear you, you giant blue furry ball._

He knew Hank had heard that, but he also knew he hadn’t said that. It had been the other guy. James knew. He was a disrespectful bastard.

_I love you too, James._

_Shut up._

He tried to look around and he discovered that he was in Hank’s territory, at his laboratory. In the mansion. At home.

He could finally breathe normally, and he took off the mask Hank had made him wear in order to breathe. Hank was there, looking at him like a human would look at an alien.

"S-s-sorry, Hank, I didn’t say… the other thing".  
"Don’t worry, professor".

_Be careful, maybe he wants to fuck your ass too._

"Ignore him, please". He was deeply ashamed; he didn’t even realize that his Scottish accent was then completely inexistent. He was back to the world, finally, after a long time, and he had a disturbed man inside his head, who seemed to be part of himself. "How long have I been unconscious?".  
"An entire week, professor".  
"Where’s… Erik?". He didn’t know how to call Michael in front of the other mutants.  
"He’s upstairs, I can ask him to come, but if you allow me, I would like to make you a little check-up first".  
"Of course, Hank. Thank you, for everything. You’re the best".

Hank tried to play it down, but Charles could notice that he was grateful because of his words. Hank didn’t knew what was going on with that voice almost unintelligible - though it had Charles’s voice tone -, but he knew that Charles would never address such things to him.

It didn’t take him too long, as he promised, and he went to look for Erik just to let him know what he had been waiting to hear since they had arrived from Shaw’s residence.

And though he couldn’t believe it, there he was, his Charles, sitting on bed with his eyes wide open, two eyes that shone when he appeared, but those weren’t the eyes he remembered. They were blue, yes, but yet, inhuman. It was disturbing but, at that point, Michael didn’t care. It was him, and that was all he needed.

He closed the door just to reach his lips with an indescribable need. That was the best day of his life, no doubt about it.

They remained in silence, embraced. James was trying to forget his fear of dying upon Michael’s shoulder, and Michael was just focused on the sensation of how complete he felt, for the first time. Everything made sense then and it was marvellous that…

_Don’t you get tired of being so…? Oh my God, I don’t even know what to say. You make me wanna puke._

Michael seemed to be really confused as he glanced at James trying to find an explanation.

"You see, it looks like what Shaw made me…".

He interrupted himself, remaining in silence. He turned pale and his hands started to shake. Michael held him, calling his name, trying not to lose him again, not then, when he was finally back… but James didn’t seem to react.

_Michael, do you think I’m dying?_

He shook his head and, all of a sudden, it was like if nothing happened. James was breathing hard, but, despite of that, everything had come back to normal.

"I think that something’s wrong".

Michael was static, not knowing what to do, which made him quite angry because he couldn’t stand not to be in charge of the situations. That was the thing that annoyed him the most in the world.

"Do you know how many mutations have them…". He thought about the right word to use. " … _transferred_ to you?".  
"I just saw Charlotte. I know I have her mutation now, but I ignore the rest. She had the same mutation as Raven".  
"Does that mean…?".  
"It looks that way, Michael".  
"Wow".  
"I thought you loved me the way I am", reproached, but smiling.  
"And you know I do. It’s just that… it must be amazing to you".  
"I don’t know, I haven’t tried yet. I’m not really excited about it. I think the bright side of it is that my legs won’t be useless all the time". He looked sad, suddenly. "Well, it doesn’t matter. Michael, I want to go to my bedroom. I need to be with you. It’s been a long time already".

Michael couldn’t agree more. He didn’t even look for the wheelchair and carried him in his arms, as he did when he was unconscious, upstairs, trying that no one noticed them. It was time to come back, finally, to that Paradise of his memories that was under Charles’s bedroom white sheets.


	21. I'm in charge.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been ages, and I always say that. But hey, here I am! I tried to write too many things at the same time and... what a bad idea when you're studying. Whatever, I don't want to bother you with my stuff... here's chapter twenty-one! Hope you enjoy it and, *as I always say, too* it would be great if you can tell me the mistakes I've made in my translation in order to fix them and make this as perfect as it can be. Thank you!

Though he was dying just to be with him, James couldn’t stay awake as much as he wanted. In that time he had remained unconscious he didn’t really rest, to the point he started to feel as if he had never slept. Besides, he felt so good there, next to Michael, as they used to be... The only place in the world where he felt safe and sound. He had vague memories of his past, of having been there, but they were way too diffuse and nothing compared to reality. He was contemplating one of his shoulders, full of freckles, trying not to close his eyes, but he was unable to do so. Michael kissed his lips as he smiled at him, sweetly.

"Go on, sleep. I’ll stay with you".

He twined one arm around his hip as he was caressing his face and his hair, moving some locks of hair behind his ears. Suddenly the world was warmer again and James found himself thinking that maybe everything could go back to normal…

"He has killed Sebastian".

There he was again, inside his head. He was looking at him as if he was guilty of something, his arms crossed across his chest, against one of the white walls of that imaginary room.

"Who killed Sebastian? And how do you know?".  
"Erik Lehnsherr has done it, of course. You’re a telepath, you know? I just take advantage of the situation".

James refused to believe it. He refused to believe that, after all, Michael had become Erik and, not just that, but that Erik he didn’t like, the one who wanted to end humanity, consumed by his own anger, who couldn’t be trusted: Magneto, long story short. James couldn’t accept that he had to stop trusting the person he loved the most. He couldn’t think he had disappointed him so much.

"Why have you done that?". His voice was trembling, though he tried to hide it.  
"One of us had to do it, and I knew that wouldn’t be you".  
"That’s not right".  
"And what about Erik murdering Shaw? Is that right? I don’t have anything against it, but I do know that you don’t think the same…". It was a funny thing, they both part of the same being, thinking with the same mind and yet, opposite thoughts. Different in every single thing. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and he lighted it as if it was the most natural thing to do at that right moment. "I can’t understand how can you still have hope for him. Typical Charles Xavier, but you will have to get over it some day, don’t you think?". He puffed away, contemplating the smoke floating in the air. "I know it is hard, you have too many feelings for him, it’s a hard time and all that, but he has killed a man, James. Next step could be…". He remained in silence, letting silence says it all.

Next step could be the death of more than just a man. In fact, it could be the death of innocent people, not just Shaw’s kind, who had what he deserved, after all. Erik wasn’t bad, but he could get lost very easily.

"I’ll talk to him".  
"I wasn’t expecting you to do something, but I’m glad you made that decision".  
"Thank you…". He was about to call him by his name, but he realized that he had no idea of what his name was.  
"Forget about it".

Before he could realize it, he was gone. It was like falling asleep inside the same dream; he felt, little by little, that he was disappearing inside a nebula that made him feel amazingly good. There wasn’t voices, thoughts, anything but a sweet, restful sleep that reminded him that, after all, he had survived.

**

The fact that Charles and Erik were a couple was an open secret, known among the inhabitants of the mansion. They had always tried to hide it and no one talked about it, but everybody just knew. It had been one of the worst discoveries in Raven’s life, but she got used to it with time - and the nights she had spent with Erik helped a lot in that. That was why no one thought it was weird when they locked themselves in Charles’s bedroom for hours, even leaving Charles’s wheelchair in Hank’s laboratory in the lower floor. Everything was silence and tranquility for the first time in weeks.

But of course, nothing could be like that forever.

Erik slammed the door and crossed the corridor almost running. His face was as sad as angry and it didn’t take him too long until he left the mansion, getting lost in the night.

Raven saw that and she immediately knew that things weren’t going well. Well, it was obvious. She approached the door of Charles’s bedroom, not really sure of what she was doing, and she knocked softly.

"Go away". Charles’s voice sounded stifled.  
"It’s Raven. Let me in, Charles".

Silence seemed to last forever. Raven was about to leave, thinking that maybe she should try later, when Charles finally answered.

"Come in".

Raven entered the room, finding the place completely upside down - Erik’s work, probably. Charles was lying on one of his sides in bed, his face an ocean of tears. Raven, without a word, sat on the edge of the bed and run her fingers through his hair, softly.

"What happened?", she whispered.  
"He did it again. He killed Shaw. He has betrayed my trust again, Raven". His gaze was lost somewhere she couldn’t know, and he was saying that as he couldn’t believe it. "And the worst thing is that he makes me feel guilty because he hates himself every time I make him remember, but…". He sat up, which took him a lot of time given the fact that half of his body was useless then. "I don’t want to lose him, Raven. Not now, when I finally have him and he decided to give up on Magneto in order to be more… Erik. Just Erik. More… Michael. Though I can’t be with him anymore. How can I be with someone I can’t trust?". He finally looked at her, those eyes full of grief.

Raven answered with a hug, feeling her brother’s pain as if it was her own. She knew that, despite herself, he was right. Charles was crying in absolute silence against her shoulder. Of all people he could be with, he had chosen the worst one. Two completely antagonists. Raven could barely understand how could they live in the same house. How could they love each other that way, then?

_Honestly, this is starting to be unbearable. Stop, please. And... is everybody blue in this house or it’s just that I’m very fucking lucky?_

"What was that?". Raven was aware that it had been Charles’s voice inside her head, but she couldn’t understand a thing.  
"Another problem of the list".

_Your evidence of love overwhelms me, James._

"The mutations I have now have… _created_ this guy somehow. He’s inside my head and he does that constantly. I’m sorry, but I can’t control him, and I know that sometimes he can be a bit offensive". For a moment, he seemed to forget that he was crying, and that relieved Raven.  
"Don’t worry", she said. She was completely astonished. "So now do you have more mutations?".  
"Yes, well, I don’t know how many and which, but…". He sighed. "At least I know that one of them would be very familiar to you, as it is the same as yours".  
"Really?".  
"Yes. I haven’t tried it yet, but I met the original mutant".  
"I want you to show me".  
"You see, Raven, I haven’t tried before and… What if it goes wrong?".  
"I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ll help you. You just have to concentrate. Think of someone familiar to start. Close your eyes if you need".

James closed his eyes, trying not to think at all, but the pain was still there, piercing. Even the other guy was quiet then. He felt Raven’s hands between his, but nothing else. He felt curiously fine. He tried to think of someone, as his sister had suggested, but his mind was only full of Michael. He realized he was the only person he really knew. 

He didn’t need to open his eyes to know he was under his skin.

"Wow, I never imagined it would be so amazing to see it from the outside", Raven smiled. 

He opened his eyes feeling odd, really, really odd, but comfortable, after all. He felt how his legs reacted and he got up from the bed under Raven’s careful eye.

The mirror looked back at him with those eyes that had so much to say, those greyish eyes that had stolen his soul. Not even a single detail was different from the original and James found himself fascinated in front of the mirror, forgetting everything for a minute. It was an euphoria impossible to explain.

"It is a mutation easy to control. You will get used to it, and I’m sure you’ll love it". Raven was still looking at him marvelled, as if it that wasn’t something she did as easily as breathing.

James went back to bed and made sure he had his back against the headboard before going back to his original self, realizing the contrast, how good he felt under that skin that it wasn’t his own.

"Thank you, Raven. Thank you, really". He kissed one of his sister’s cheeks and he remained there, against her, as he used to do in the past, when Charles was sure of who he was. "Could you please bring my chair here? I have to find Michael".

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea in the world to her, but Raven left the room just to do what her brother wanted. She knew that, like everybody else at some point, she owed him that.

She more than anyone.

**

Michael was a storm of conflicting emotions that night.

On the one hand, he was angry with James. He had killed the man who had basically kidnapped him and made him suffer so much, and he wasn’t happy with it. How could he not?

On the other hand, he knew he had betrayed him because, at the moment he had promised Charles Xavier he would stay with him, he was also signing a covenant not to kill anybody ever again.

So, he had betrayed him. Again. Michael hated himself so much for that, He didn’t know what his next step would be.

The bar where he was was starting to empty but he was still there, sitting at the bar with a bottle of beer between his hands and his head down.

"Hey, realizing how idiot you are?".

He had a shiver when he heard that voice, but he knew it was impossible. James couldn’t be there. He rose his head, in direction to where the voice came, and saw that man sitting next to him, with a cigarette between his lips, a much more wasted and manly version of James - it wasn’t that James wasn’t _manly enough_ , but the bushy orangey beard helped a lot; also, that man looked slightly older than him - who was looking at him with those blue eyes he knew so well, just that those were deeper, full of a strange danger.

"Who are you?".  
"I thought you would say something much more intelligent than that. I think James calls me the other guy but I am, technically, James".  
"How can you…?".  
" … be here?". Michael couldn’t get over it. "Let’s just say I left James alone for a while and I’m inside that pretty and tormented mind of yours. It looks like everyone forgets about the telepathic powers. That’s why we are talking, dude. All clear now?". He dedicated Michael a big smile full of cynicism, something he could never relate to James. He thought that the guy was hiding something from him, but he couldn’t tell what. "If you want my opinion, I think you two should break up".  
"You don’t have the right to opine".  
"I think I have more right than anyone to give my opinion about that. After all, I’m part of the relationship". In that moment, the bartender approached him and served him a glass of whiskey, which alarmed Michael.  
"You’re not inside my head, are you?".  
" _Touché_. James needed some help in order to find you, so I offered myself. Let’s just say that right now his body has a mutation for almost everything. So yes, I’m still in James’s body, but I’m the one in charge right now". - He put one of his hands on one of Michael’s shoulders to prove that the touch was real, right before he pulled another cigarette from one of the pockets of his dark coat. "If I bother you, which I can see crystal clear, I can go to spend my night of freedom to…".  
"You don’t want to help James, am I right?".  
"Regarding your _business_ , no, I don’t want to help him in that. But hey, I have found you, and that’s supposedly what I had to do. I just wanted to get drunk and I found the perfect excuse to do so". That big, cynical smile again.

Michael stared at him, thinking of how much he wanted to punch him. That guy needed someone to put him in his place. Yes, someone had to do it, even if it that wasn’t the best moment in his life to do so. He smiled to himself, unable to hold it back. Probably his badness was inherent in him.

He knew exactly what to do.

"Oh, no, please, stay. Though the company it’s not pleasant, it’s better than drink alone". He tried to look indifferent, showing how good of an actor he could be. "Another drink? I’m buying".

The night was young, and there were still too many things to do.


	22. Enemy of mine, fuck you like the Devil.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick upload! Three to go! xxx

Michael refused to call the stranger by the name of James, as he felt he was sullying his boyfriend’s name by calling the man like that, so he had no idea of how to approach him. Be that as it may, he was a heavy drinker even compared to Michael, which was a lot considering he was Irish: he had just finished an entire bottle of Scotch and he was still standing, smoking cigarettes, one after the other, and talking about all the things that made him swear since the very day he was born - which was a very long list that was growing every passing minute, a lot considering he had been born like two days ago. He had a thick Scottish accent, almost the same James had the day he met him, that small and extremely happy man from Glasgow, and though sometimes he couldn’t understand what he was saying, it didn’t really matter: the only thing that man knew was to hate and complain about it. 

Michael had a plan, a plan that had led him to drink with the man as a way to intoxicate him. What he forgot, though, was that he was also intoxicating himself and, truth be told, with every drink he finished, the world changed around him, to the point he realized that, the man, with his black shirt and his grey tailored pants, was incredibly attractive. After all, he was still James, differences aside.

They were sitting on a bench in the middle of a park, having no idea of what time it was, probably too late to worry, anyways. The man was still smoking and there was still liquid inside the bottle in his hands; Michael was fascinated by his endurance. He felt so, so drunk…

“Hey”. He sounded even drunker than he thought he would.  
“What?”, he just answered.  
“If you can walk, does that mean...?”. He couldn't believe his own words but yes, he was saying that.  
“Yes, it means that exactly”. He didn't need not even a single word else. They had ended up feeling each other, probably because they were the same kind of person: a bad person, after all. But yes, he had thought a lot about it: James's condition went from his waist down, which meant... Well, sexual intercourse would be impossible.

Michael just stare at the man while he laid down on the bench and closed his eyes as if he was suddenly tired. The sky was becoming lighter in that empty street. He couldn't stop thinking about how confused he felt and how confusing everything was. He wanted to teach the stranger a lesson, make him shut the fuck up once and for all, realizing what a piece of shit he was, but then, at that very moment, everything was gone: he was too attracted to him to think of anything else. He was the most fucking beautiful thing in the world, in his particular way, intense, lustful. He could barely feel his breath but he could sense the unequivocal smell of alcohol mixed with cigarettes and that scent that could only belong to James.

He finally kissed his lips, biting them. He didn’t know what he was doing at all.

As he was being kissed in return, with the man’s tongue trying to get between his lips and teeth, Michael felt something inside him like anything he had felt before…

… but soon that feeling was extinguished when the other man opened his eyes and sat down as if anything had just happened there, as if anything _was_ happening.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”.  
“Me? Excuse you, but I wasn’t the only one who was _doing_ something”. Michael stared at him, wanting to punch him in the face for the hundredth time. He didn’t look drunk at all then, in fact, it seemed that not even a single drop of alcohol had touched those extremely red lips.  
“As if it wasn’t enough that I can’t get drunk, now I…”.

But Michael didn’t let him finish, kissing his lips once again. Before the man could react, he sat astride him, decided not to let him go.

“I know you like it”. He had cupped his face with his hands and he was looking at him with that dangerous glint in his eyes that could only mean one thing and one thing only: he was aroused, and nothing could possibly stop him from achieving his goal.  
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Of course I don’t!”.

Michael put his hand inside his pants and started to stroke him, feeling his half-hard and warm cock react to the contact.

“See?”, he whispered, closer to his face than ever before. “If you’re part of Charles, you should know that no one knows him better than I do”. He bit his earlobe and he knew that he was making the man reach the point where he couldn’t say no to him. “I know a place near here where we could go and…”. Michael started kissing his neck, feeling his rapid heartbeat. He couldn’t help himself but to smile, as he knew he had gotten away with it.  
“I’m not… I’m not a faggot”:  
“I know”. He stood face to face with him and he kissed him again. “But a night’s just a night. You just let me take care of everything”.  
“Awrite, you win. But if you say a single word about this I’ll kill you”. 

Michael gave him one of those smiles that he only used when he was trying to seduce someone and started walking, knowing the man was right behind him. His particular victory of the day.

**

As he had already told the man, that wasn’t the first time Michael stopped in the hotel where he took him. James didn’t know him as much as he say he did, as he just knew a few things he saw inside his messy mind, but he was sure that, before their relationship started, Michael was what was commonly known as a womanizer, a man who was with a different woman every night, someone with a sexual appetite hard to quench.

They were finally in a luxurious room and Michael knew that he had nothing to lose: he couldn’t let that version of James he had for himself that night think for too long. He could change his mind and that would be really inconvenient. He was still drunk but, nevertheless, he was awake, alert, conscious.

He made the man lie down in bed, pushing him, sitting astride him again, as he had already done back in the bench, and he started taking his clothes off, kissing him, exploring his mouth and tasting that mixture of saliva, alcohol and cigarettes, the differences and similitudes. Michael kissed him as a woman would never do it and, truth be told, he felt extremely good, used as a fucking bitch, yeah, but phenomenal. Who was he to wonder about the morality of fucking? Sex was sex, after all.

He felt those lips kissing and biting his chest and he couldn’t stop imagining them around his cock, blowing him, giving him the best blowjob ever. Just the thought of it made him harder; not even a single woman on Earth had achieved that.

“Michael. Blow me”, he said, as if it was an order that had to be obeyed without delay.

Michael looked at him, wondering if he was serious.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait. Or better said, you’ll have to earn it”.

He took his shirt off and soon he started to fight with his pants and his companion’s underwear. He wanted him, but that didn’t mean he had to be careful with him.

“You know what?”, he moved closer to his face again. “If you want me to blow you, you’ll have to do it first”.  
“What? No way!”.  
“Well, in that case you won’t have it”.

He gazed at him, pondering it. Finally, he sighed.

“You’ll regret it, I’ve never done it before and…”.

Michael stood up and took the rest of his clothes off. The man dropped his jaw when he saw the size of the erection between his legs. He wasn’t used to look at other men’s crotches but that… could that be natural? Maybe Magneto had another mutation after all.

“You know what you have to do”. Michael smiled, enjoying all that more for the fact that he was forcing the man to do something he didn’t want to than because he was about to receive a blowjob.

Michael had to admit, once the man started, that he was really good at it. Natural talent, one could say. He felt that tongue snaking across the surface of his cock, from the base to the tip, and soon he could see how he introduced the tip inside his mouth, little by little, covering more and more, saliva running down his chin. He pulled him by the hair and thrusted more between his lips, almost choking him. God, that was the best thing he had done in a very long time. He moaned, tangling his fingers in that hair he hadn’t stopped pulling.

“Now, stop, you’re gonna make me come”.

Michael made him stand up, while the man was still confused about what he had just done, and kissed him as if it was a reward.

“Now’s your turn”.

It was something he wasn’t used to do, but it wasn’t his first time either. He knew exactly how to satisfy him, quicker than the other man, one of his fingers already inside him as he was still licking his cock, feeling his body tensing with the intrusion. Michael pushed him back to bed and separated his legs, preparing him to give him something he would never forget.

“Now I want you to be quiet. If you talk just once, I swear I will bind you, you hear me?”. He didn’t even need an answer. He smiled, pleased.

Penetrate that allegedly-homophobe-James was easier than he thought it would. Tight, warm and wet but, yeah, easier than it looked. He had to cover his mouth at the beginning, as they weren’t the only ones in the hotel and the man cried like a bitch, but he wasn’t hard to _domesticate_. He was giving him something that would keep him shut for the rest of his life, and the worst (or the best thing) about it was that he was enjoying it immensely. 

They both reach the orgasm at the same time. James, the stranger, felt that presence inside his head again and he knew that his journey had come to an end. It had been beautiful and shameful, but beautiful at least. He could have never imagined that he would enjoy feeling that way. He came and, suddenly, he couldn’t hear or see anything. He was about to lose his consciousness. He couldn’t think of a less appropriate moment.

\- Michael... - he moaned, his orgasm already gone. - Michael… I think I’m gonna faint...

And that was the last thing he said.


	23. Broken.

At first, Michael didn’t understand what was happening. There he was, having one of the best experiences ever in his life. He had reached climax with a loud moan; in fact, both of them did. And suddenly, as if he wasn’t allowed to have a good time after all, the stranger fainted.

He tried to woke him up, not very gently. Michael believed that, although they had had an amazing sex, the man didn’t deserve a nice treatment, being the asshole he really was. He didn’t react; nevertheless, his pulse was stable, so he decided to let him sleep - the room was already paid and he was really tired, anyway. Mother Nature would do her job and she would wake him up, hopefully. Thus, he covered the man with the sheets of the bed and he lied down next to him, a little bit far from him at first, wrapping his hands around his body afterwards. He needed that contact, after all, his nose against his shoulder and his smell everywhere.

He woke up, not sure of how much he had slept. The light was coming in through the blinds and that’s how he saw the silhouette of his companion, standing up at last, completely dressed again, his hands inside his pockets. He looked at him and he could see that his eyes were again those inhuman, shining eyes he had seen in James when he woke up. He knew it was him without a single word even though he didn’t look like himself at all and, more importantly, he was standing on his feet. It was as if he had fused with that darker version of himself. Anyhow, it was still him. He just knew.

“James, what…?”.

James interrupted him, approaching him with a menacing look on his face. Michael realised that none of his limbs were answering to his commands, and he knew that it was because the man before him wanted it to be that way.

Not knowing exactly why, he was scared.

“So, do you think you can play with me as much as you want?”. The only thing that could be seen on his face was pure madness. He looked completely insane. “Do you think you can spend the eternity manipulating me in exchange for nothing more than unconditional love? You’re very wrong, Erik Lehnsherr”.

He tried to find him again in his eyes, but it was impossible. James wouldn’t do that. He was still Charles Xavier, it was in his nature. But that man he used to know seemed to have disappeared without a trace, leaving in his place that mischievous version of himself, although it wasn’t him at all.

And then, the pain came.

It started in his chest, but it didn’t take it long to expand to his limbs, a piercing pain, as if someone was stabbing him with an invisible knife. He screamed, feeling the tears in his eyes, but he was still unable to move. James was looking at him, that dangerous look on his gaze. It was him; he was hurting him, he was punishing him for breaking all his promises again, the hundredth time. The anger was still visible in his whole body, not moving a single muscle, but tears had started running down his face, as if the suffering Michael was experiencing was his, too. But he didn’t do anything to stop it because he couldn’t; he deserved it.

“You’ve always been the most important thing in my life. I thought you should know it”. He smiled, but there was no happiness in that. Tears were still coming from his eyes. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me and yet, I can’t be with you anymore”. The pain stopped, the physical one at least; Michael had never felt so guilty. “I’m gonna find David. I’m gonna find him and I’m gonna ask him to give me the only thing I need to go on with my life”.  
“J-J-James… what… what are you going to do?”.

James approached the door and put his hand on the handle, only moving his head to meet his eyes one last time.

“I’m going to ask him to take you out of my head. Forever. Once and for all. If I was able to forget who I was, I can forget you”.

Thus, he crossed the door, closing it right behind him.

**

It took him some time to gain his mobility back. He was desperate, upset, angry, disappointed… The list was endless.

He looked for his trousers, that were lying on the floor, where he had probably left them the previous night, and he took his phone out of one of the pockets. He had taken the precaution of asking Raven for her number and he had never felt more grateful about anything.

“Hello?”.  
“Raven. Raven, oh, thank God. You’ve no idea of how glad I am to hear your voice. I’m Erik. Listen, pay attention to what I’m going to tell you: I think James’s mutations are driving him insane. He has fainted a couple times and… Anyway, I must go. I want you to get Hank and ask him to find a way to reverse the process. It has to be a way!”.  
“But where is he?”.  
“He said he was going to find David, one of Shaw’s boys. I think that… He’s going to the mansion. Cerebro”. It was a revelation.  
“OK. Erik, don’t worry, we will be waiting and Hank will find something. See you in a bit”.

He hung up, feeling his hands shaking, something he would have never imagined in himself. He had to get James back. Maybe it was too late, but he wanted to try and make things right. He wanted to spend the rest of his life next to him, protect him from whatever it could happen and just… Love him. Just that. He couldn’t think that he probably hated him then. 

He arrived at the mansion trying to empty his mind in order to stay away from drowning in his own anguish. He was trying to convince himself that everything would be alright; nevertheless, he didn’t need to get inside the building to know that something wasn’t right. It was too quiet, the front door was open. There were even some windows with their glasses broken. He came inside, no one was there. Everything was empty, with a ghostly halo. It made him shiver.

Hank was still in the lab, holding his breath, trying not to be found. He had seen the professor, although he wasn’t able to recognize him at first. He had seen him destroy everything around him without even a blink of his eyes. Not even a single blink. He was destroying everything in the mansion, even hurting people, and he didn’t even care. Hank wanted to come out and help, but he knew that he couldn’t do anything against Charles: in that moment, Hank was probably the person who knew the most about Charles’s new powers and, although he found them fascinating, he was aware that it was terrifying, having someone with so much power in his hands, unable to control it. Raven’s call, even though he was hoping that it would never come, wasn’t a surprise; he had never stopped looking for a solution since he knew about the professor’s state. His findings, up until then, had been useless.

Michael approached the stairs, as it was the only way to get to Cerebro. He had just reached the second step when James appeared, looking at him from above. He had changed clothes and he no longer had the beard, and although he was still as pale as the snow, he looked way better than before. His lips were incredibly red again and his eyes were clearer, less intense. He still had that inhuman halo around him, that made him look perfect, the kind of creature that didn’t really exist.

“So you came”. He was trying to show disdain, although it didn’t seem right.  
“What did you expect me to do? James”. He tried to come closer but he raised and eyebrow, letting him know it wasn’t a good idea. “James, you’re not thinking clearly. You’re not like this”.  
“Am I not like this? What bothers you, Erik, is that you can’t use me anymore. And you’re trying to cage me like an animal just because I’m sick of that!”.

Erik couldn’t help himself but to think that, for once, they had interchanged roles. He was surprised to find himself reflected in James’s irrational behaviour, and he was ashamed of it.

“Get out of my way, Erik. I’m going to leave, and you can’t stop me. I’m just saying it for your own good”.  
“James, don’t…”.  
“Just do it, Erik!”.

He stepped aside, but only to take him by the arm when he passed next to him. James looked at that hand upon his arm as if he had suddenly forgotten everything else in the world.

“If you just were a good person”.

A single tear fell down his cheek, one single and silent tear. It hurt him more than anything. James released himself from his grip and left, looking like an angel while catastrophe surrounded him.


End file.
